Hermione Granger, bookworm, prize pupil, Slayer?
by Junella
Summary: Has anyone ever wondered what would happen if Hermione becomes the Slayer? Well, read on and see! I upped the rating just in case, because of a little sexual innuedo in Chapter 12: Anticipation
1. Prologue

**A/N**: I don't know of any fics who utilise this idea, so I hope you'll enjoy it :) Please, please, please review okay? (puts on a puppy-eyes expression) Oh, and please be gentle, I have a fragile ego :P

**Disclaimer**: Most of the material you see here isn't mine, and never will be. But one can dream... wink (This applies to the rest of the fic too)

Prologue

Hermione Granger was _not _having a good day. Not at all. She figured she should have expected it when she woke herself up at four in the morning by falling out of bed.

Accidents just kept happening one after another, like a whole line of dominos toppling over. The gods must have picked her to be their victim of the day.

"Hey, Hermione." The familiar voice poked into her disgruntled reverie. "We'd better make a move if we want to make it to Potions on time."

She checked the time and realised Ron was right. Sighing bad-temperedly, she heaved her worn knapsack onto her shoulder and followed her two friends out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry and Ron were wisely silent on the way to the dungeons, conditioned by nearly seven years of severe tongue-lashings when they so much as breathed loudly in front of a very cheesed-off Hermione.

Snape stalked into the classroom as usual, his robes billowing out behind in the manner that had earned him countless nicknames (none of them including the title 'Professor', of course).

"So far so good," Hermione thought to herself as she set about gathering the ingredients for the potion he had wrote out on the blackboard. _Maybe, just maybe, I could get through Potions without a single mishap._

She was carefully slicing her caterpillars into the requisite inch-thick pieces when it happened.

A sudden burst of energy shot into her body, running through her veins like so much fire. She stiffened in surprise, almost dropping the knife. A second, more intense explosion caused the blade to clatter from numb fingers. She gripped the edge of the worktable, taking huge gulps of air like a drowning man. In that moment, she felt so very alive and powerful. It was exhilarating, to sense so much might with your grasp, and all you had to do was reach out and grab hold.

"Miss Granger," Snape's cold drawl cut into the heady haze she had descended into. "Explain yourself."

With considerable effort, she straightened and regained her composure, mind racing to come up with a plausible excuse. "I—I cut myself." Wincing at how utterly lame she sounded, she belatedly added, "Professor."

The teacher arched a brow. "Oh? I see no visible damage to any of your appendages whatsoever. Retrieve your knife and return to your work." Turning away, he added over his shoulder, "And Miss Granger, twenty points for disrupting the class and an additional ten for disrespect towards a teacher."

Silencing Harry and Ron with a warning glance, she glared daggers at his departing back. If looks could kill, the teacher would have left the classroom in a few hundred pieces, give or take a handful. Firmly clamping down on the urge to throw her knife at the back of his head, she returned to her caterpillars. "What have I done to deserve this?" she muttered.

Slamming the door to her room, she dropped her bag and fell into a chair, feeling thoroughly exhausted. One of the perks of being Head Girl was a personal bedroom and bathroom. No more giggly, gossipy roommates keeping her up at night, or having to listen to their complaints when she studied too late into the night.

Dinner had been thankfully uneventful, and she had beaten a hasty retreat to her room after the meals to avoid committing any more faux pas. The incident in Potions had been the last straw.

_Damn that man_, she thought moodily, a rare thing for her. She usually had nothing but respect for the teaching staff, including Snape. But she was looking for something to vent her ire on, and who else better than Snape?

_Tap tap tap_. She sighed and called in the general direction of the door, "Who's there?"

When the noise persisted, she realised her mistake; it was actually coming from the window. Muttering under her breath, she got to her feet and stumbled over to it to admit the owl. Odd, she thought. It's not Hedwig, who else could be sending me letters?

Breaking the wax seal on the envelope, she removed a small piece of parchment. _Miss Granger, _it read in a loopy cursive hand. _Please come to my office immediately. Signed, Professor Dumbledore_

She frowned, setting the note down on her desk by the windowsill. Why on earth did Dumbledore wanted to see her? She had, to the best of her memory, not committed any offences or flouted any school rules recently, unless one counts the fiasco at Potions, which was totally not her fault. Trust Snape to be such a prude and report to Dumbledore about so trivial a thing.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she gave her hair a mandatory brushing, straightened her robes, striding out of her rooms to answer the summons.

A/N: Well, not much of a cliff-hanger, I grant you, I suck at writing them. But if you like, I can write more. Chapter 1 is already in the stage wings and waiting! So, review!


	2. Burdens

**A/N**: Hey, it's me again, with the promised chapter. Hope you enjoy! Give me suggestions, opinions, whatever, and I promise I'll take them into consideration, alright?

**Disclaimer:** (Refer to prologue. It's too much of a hassle for me to repeat the same thing in each chapter. :P)

Chapter 1: Burdens

Dumbledore sat in his office, staring at a letter in his hand. There were two odd things about it. Firstly, it was not parchment, but normal white paper. Secondly, the words were not handwritten, but printed.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry frowned slightly as he reread the letter again. How curious...

Hearing footsteps outside his door, he called out, "Come in!"

Hermione Granger, Head Girl and loyal friend to the Boy Who Lived, stepped into view. Taking a seat before his massive claw-footed desk at his beckoning, she politely accepted his offer of tea. "Professor, what did you want to see me for?"

He chuckled. "Always one to—what's the Muggle term, ah yes—cut to the quick, aren't you, Miss Granger?"

Her cheeks coloured slightly. "I'm sorry, Professor. I've had a bad day."

He nodded kindly. "I quite understand."

They drank their tea in silence, until Hermione could no longer withstand the suspense. "Professor, your purpose in summoning me?"

"Oh yes." The comfortable, light-hearted atmosphere in the circular office quickly became very serious as the Headmaster leant forth. "It has been brought to my attention, Miss Granger, that there is a Slayer in our school. She has been called after the...death of the previous one."

"A Slayer," she repeated slowly. She remembered reading about them in the school library, and had felt a sense of intense admiration for them, to have the courage and ability to stand against the far greater numbers of darkness. It was probably the inherent poet in her who found such a tableau tragically romantic. "And you want me to inform her about her calling on your behalf?"

He shook his head. "No, Miss Granger, it's not that." Holding a hand up to forestall any further reply from her, he continued, "My dear girl, _you_ are the Slayer."

It took a minute for his words to sink in and another for her to fully comprehend them. And when she did, all she could do was sit up very straight and gape in a very uncharacteristic way at the old man sitting opposite her. "S-sir? Are you sure that it's not a mistake? I can't be the Slayer...it's just not possible."

He chuckled again, but it was more out of irony than amusement. "No, my dear girl, I am certainly not mistaken. You _are_ the reigning Slayer now."

"But...Professor...why me?" The look of frustrated bewilderment, an expression he had seen on the face of Harry Potter far too many times, made his heart ache.

Clearing his throat, he continued speaking, feeling the need to explain this to her, as well as himself, "It is not I, or the Watchers' Council, who decides such things, but a higher power. I believe the Watchers' Council call it The Powers That Be."

"I don't understand."

He reached out and patted her hand gently. "It's a little hard to take in. Perhaps I should ask Messrs Potter and Weasley to escort you back to your room?"

The suggestion seemed to rouse her from her daze. "Oh no, thank you, Professor. I think I can make my own way back."

"If you say so," he replied, although his expression belied his disbelief. "This arrived for you." He held out a well-worn brown leather-bound book.

He watched her leave his office with a heavy heart and sat back in his chair, sighing with the air of one who had seen too much in his long lifetime. "Why do they choose to put these burdens on such young shoulders?" he bitterly muttered to no one in particular.

She did not remember taking the book, thanking the Headmaster and making her way out of his office, but somehow, she found herself in the sitting room she shared with the Head Boy.

Grimacing to herself, she hurried into her room, not at all feeling up to an encounter with a certain arrogant, blonde Slytherin by the name of Draco Malfoy at the moment. In one of Dumbledore's harebrained (and that's putting it mildly) policies about inter-house harmony, he had elected the Head Boy and Girl from opposing houses. She and Malfoy had fought every single day since the start of the school year, until they had agreed in an unusual moment of solidarity that it would not do for fellow students to see the Head Boy and Girl at loggerheads with each other. A truce of sorts had been made; with them refraining from insulting each other as much as possible and dividing their common room into half to minimise chances of territorial clashes.

Maybe the boy does have some sliver of decency in him, she mused absently, then shook herself very hard. It was Draco Malfoy, for heaven's sake! The boy was evil, period. No questions asked. Perhaps the shock had given her brain damage.

Looking fearfully at the tome in her hands, she decided she could put off reading it until after her evening bath. As she placed it on her nightstand, her cat Crookshanks emerged from underneath the bed and rubbed his squashed face against her calf, meowing. Obediently, she scooped him up and scratched behind his ears, smiling as the feline expressed his approval in very vocal terms. "It's been a very strange day, Crooks," she murmured to him.

Supremely unconcerned, he simply purred and nudged at her hand, ordering her to continue her petting. To his great displeasure, she placed him back down on the floor instead. "I'm sorry, Crooks. All I want now is a good hot bath."

Sniffing audibly, he marched out of the room with his tail held high, hoping Mrs Norris may be in a more sociable mood than yesterday, and that nasty Filch fellow was off in his bed, where all humans should be at that hour.

The lovely warm scented water did nothing to soothe her frazzled nerves and she had to climb out eventually to keep herself from turning into a wrinkled prune. Puttering around her room, she took her won sweet time brushing her hair, arranging the few items on the vanity and basically occupying herself with other mundane chores before finally admitting to herself that she could no longer delay the inevitable much longer. Sitting down on her bed with a sigh of resignation, she picked the book up and read the title stamped on the cover in gold leaf: VAMPYR

Whew, that was a long one! Thanks for reading right through to the end. And review! (lol)

Right, now for the thank-yous:

freakinred- thank you so much! I feel so very flattered :)

rckt-grl6- here's the chapter, hope you like! (btw, cool name)

Galixia- Umm...I get what you're implying, I'll think about it, but don't get your hopes up. Thanks for reviewing!

xx becky xx- Thank you! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, and that of your friend's too!


	3. Directions

**A/N: **Here's the next chapter. Hope it's good; I had a mild case of writer's block in the middle of writing it. As usual, reviews are always welcome. :)

Chapter 2: Directions

A pale face appeared in her field of vision, its lips drawn back in a malicious grin. Long pointed fangs gleamed, and so did its curved talons as it raised a rotting hand. "Ssslayer," it hissed. Then it brought the hand down, poised to rip her throat out. She screamed in terror—

—and woke up as she hit the floor with a solid thump. It took a moment for her sleep-disoriented mind to realise where she was; in her nice comfy Head Girl quarters, sitting on the carpeted floor on her sore butt.

Muttering under her breath, she disentangled herself from the twisted bedclothes and crawled back into bed

Draco Malfoy raised a mocking brow as he watched one very bedraggled Muggleborn witch stalk out of her room. "My, my, look at what the cat dragged in last night."

"Shut up, Malfoy, or I shall personally ensure you'll never celebrate Father's Day," she threw back over her shoulder as she stomped over to the door, yanking it open so hard it bounced off the wall. He could hear her stamping all the way down the stairs.

Shaking his head, he made a mental note not to cross his colleague that day. There weren't many things a Malfoy was afraid of, but a very angry Hermione Granger with her wand pointed at your throat (and her slaps) was a force to be reckoned with indeed.

Straightening his cuffs, he smoothed his hair back one last time before following more gently in her wrathful wake to breakfast.

She had no idea how she had gotten through the morning, but in some mysterious way, she did. The news of her calling felt surreal to her when faced with the routine of her everyday life, and she had to constantly remind herself of it. _Chicken stew for lunch and I'm the Slayer. Lesson on Confounding Charms and I'm the Slayer; Crookshanks seriously needs a bath, and did I mention I'm the Slayer?_

"Um...um..." a small uncertain voice from her left pulled her back quite rudely to reality.

She turned to see a boy, probably a second-year from the looks of him, struggling to keep up with her long strides. Sighing irritably, she snapped, "What is it?", only to immediately regret the words the moment they left her lips. Softening her tone with a conscious effort, she apologised and repeated her query, which seemed to mollify him.

With the air of one on Very Important Business, he handed her a note. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to hand this to you."

Biting back another sigh, she took it from him and nodded curtly. "Thank you. You may go back to your friends now." Watching him trot away, she scowled at the envelope and stuck it into her robes, continuing on her way to Transfiguration.

Glancing at a little pocket watch she had gotten in Hogsmeade, she broke into a sprint, praying that she would make it on time. In almost seven years of schooling, she had never been late for any class, and McGonagall would be extremely displeased if she started now.

Swerving to avoid running into (or rather, right through) the Fat Friar, she skidded to a halt outside her destination, joining the stragglers that trickled in. Harry and Ron flashed relieved smiles at her as she took her usual seat beside them. "We were worried you won't make it on time, Hermione," Ron said. "Did Professor Vector keep you that long?"

"Actually, I was intercepted by a boy with a message from the Headmaster."

"What's it about?"

"I don't know. I haven't opened it."

"Well, open it and see. It may be important."

_It probably is, _she thought sardonically, but was saved from replying when Professor McGonagall strode in. Her fellow classmates quietened instantly. Her reputation as an impartial teacher, despite being the Head of Gryffindor, had garnered her a fair amount of respect among the student population.

She set them to work Transfiguring pears into crows, and quite soon, the room was filled with caws and the frantic flapping of wings, fully-formed and otherwise, as the students tried to keep their errant subjects in check.

Ever seen a green crow? Well, Lavender Brown's holding on to one. How about a pear with scaly yellow legs, wings and a beak? Right there, on Dean Thomas's desk.

Harry and Ron weren't faring too well either. Ron's had sprouted tiny little wings and very short legs, and was hopping about quite energetically. Harry's was no better off, having grown a pair of eyes and a beak—nothing else.

Hermione had to fight to keep a giggle down as she watched Harry's, um, 'masterpiece' opened and shut its yellow beak repeatedly, its beady eyes blinking in a puzzled sort of way. Her crow, on the other hand, had turned out beautifully. When McGonagall praised her work at the end of class, she had to work hard, harder than she had to battle her laughter minutes ago, to keep her face a mask of indifference.

"Miss Granger!" The call rose over the chatter of her classmates on their way out.

Wincing, she left the company of Harry and Ron, breaking away from the crowd towards McGonagall. "Yes, Professor?"

The elderly witch was standing by the desk she had occupied, holding out a leather-bound book which looked very familiar. Dang, how on earth had it found its way into her bag? She definitely did not remember packing it.

"Miss Granger, do be more careful with your belongings in future." Glancing at the two boys who hovered outside the doorway, she lowered her voice. "You may tell Mr Potter and Mr Weasley about your calling, but make sure the news goes no further. As it is, only Professor Dumbledore and I are aware of it."

She nodded and tucked the book into her bag, hurrying out to meet her two amigos. Thwarting their questions with an explanation about an extra-credit assignment, she pretended to take offence at their head-shaking, feeling guilty to the core for lying. She had already been permitted to divulge her secret to them, but something was holding her back.

Upon reflection, she supposed it was merely a selfish desire to have something to herself, something that was _hers _and no one else's. After all, she had the feeling that the two boys walking along beside her had their own deepest, darkest secrets which they weren't spilling.

The beginnings of a headache were throbbing at her temples, and she rubbed them with an exasperated sigh.

"Somp'un wong, Er-my-knee?" Ron asked from across the table, his speech somewhat garbled by the amount of food he had crammed into his mouth.

She glared at him. "For Merlin's sake, Ron, shut your mouth when you eat! I, for one, do not appreciate the view of your maw!"

"She's right, you know," interjected Harry from her right elbow. Grinning at the miffed redhead, he turned to her. "Are you okay?" he asked in an undertone. "You've been acting weird all day."

"Am I? How?"

He just shrugged. "Dunno. It's just a feeling I had. You're not yourself today."

"Maybe I'm coming down with something. My head's beginning to pound."

"Why don't you go and lie down for a bit?" he suggested, emerald eyes full of concern. "We'll tell Professor Sinistra you're not feeling well."

Usually, she would be horrified at the merest thought of cutting class, but not today. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been strangely draining, and all she wanted right now was some quiet, solitary time.

Back in the peaceful sanctuary of her room, she fished out the note from Dumbledore and broke the seal, her hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before reaching in to pluck out the parchment.

Skimming over the words, she brightened considerably. It contained instructions to where her Watcher awaited. She was to meet the person who would be in charge of her training and guiding her during her tenure as the Slayer.

She knew it would be foolish to form a mental image of her future guardian even before she met him or her, but her mind couldn't help conjuring an image of a bespectacled middle-aged man in a tweed suit, (odd how her mind had decided it was a male) with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. Brow knitted in concentration as gentle brown eyes perused the text, probably on some nefarious ancient being or other that was after her head.

Her mouth quirked in a wry smile. How ironic to be included in the ranks of those whom she admired so ardently. Slipping off her bed, she pulled on her socks and shoes, straightened her clothes and scraped her now more manageable and considerably less frizzy hair into a French braid.

She was not a vain creature, but she knew just as well as anyone else that first impressions played a major part in relationships, platonic, professional or otherwise. If she was to be working with that man or woman for the rest of her life, surely it wouldn't hurt to make a good first impression.

Note in hand, she left her chambers, headache and exhaustion forgotten.

"Let's see..." she muttered to herself. "Start in the Entrance Hall...fine...turn right, climb the flight of stairs...walk seventy-four paces—climb that stairs right up to the third floor...fifty paces, turn left—this route seems familiar—sixty-three paces, left again—_honestly_—twenty-seven paces...and here we are." She stopped and looked up at the wooden door with a plaque that bore the words 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' No wonder the way was familiar. Really, if her Watcher was the DADA professor, all he had to do was say it. Why bother with all the secrecy?

_Perhaps it's the infernal lemon sherbets he consumes in such liberal amounts_, a mischievous voice suggested at the back of her head. _Sugar rush and all that. _Suppressing a smile at that, she took a deep breath and grasped the knob, feeling the chill of the cold metal bite into her skin. "Well, here goes nothing," she whispered and turned it, pushing the door open at the same time.

The classroom beyond was pitch-dark, the heavy drapes at the windows preventing any moonlight from entering. A thread of uncertainty gnawed at her mind as she shut the door behind her and moved further into the room. "Hello?" she called, voice shaking from a combination of nerves and anticipation. "Professor Hannigan?" (A/N: Yes, LilacDreams, you may laugh)

A movement from the corner of her eye made her spin around, instinct making her raise her arms in a defensive stance. She did not question the reaction no more that she doubted her parentage. It did not occur to her to pull her wand out from her sleeve. "Professor, is that you?"

"Miss Granger, may I ask what are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

Today's one of my closest friends' birthday, so this chapter is dedicated to him. (and no, in case you are wondering, he's just a friend) 

Another thing I was wondering: The book said that Muggle contraptions go haywire around Hogwarts. If so, how do watches like Harry's (before it broke down in GoF) function

mira: thank you for finally reviewing :P (Sorry if my nagging pissed you off)

Piper of Locksley: Thank you for reading. Here's a new chapter :)

Angel-wingzz: Here's the new chapter! Please don't kill me for not revealing the identity of the Watcher outright, I'm going to do it in the next chapter :P

Hayley: Great minds think alike! Sign your review this time, and I'll have a look at your fic!

Kail Ceanni: Lol, don't worry, dear, I'm most certainly not going in that direction. I don't think I'll have the patience (and money) to source for DVDs of all the episodes of the series to do that!

Galixia: If you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I've given serious thought to your suggestion, but um, I was never quite with the Buffy-Spike thing, if you know what I mean. Please don't be mad at me for that!

If anyone can guess who the Watcher is, tell me and I'll see about a reward (LilacDreams and mira, you guys are banned from this challenge, muahahaha)


	4. Confrontations

**A/N: **Phew, I'm beginning to think I underestimated my plot bunnies. They're getting vicious! Anyway, here's the third chapter, as usual reviews are welcome. :)

Chapter 3: Confrontations

Brilliant, just absolutely brilliant. As if he didn't have enough on his plate already, the Watchers' Council just absolutely had to name him the Watcher to the new Slayer, didn't they? He figured it was probably the old farts' way of avoiding the tedious process of having to nominate candidates for the post and putting them through a series of nerve-wracking tests before finally deciding on one. After all, as Albus Dumbledore had pointed out, he was closer to the new Slayer than any of the other members of the Council.

Merlin, how he hated those twinkling eyes. He could have sworn that it increased threefold when the old man had brought up that fact.

Despite his ire at life in general, he couldn't help but wonder who his charge was. The Headmaster had been tight-lipped about it and simply told him to find out for himself, which explained his current predicament.

He had been waiting in the darkened classroom for the better part of an hour, and was just on the verge of leaving when she of the bossy demeanour and insufferable know-it-all ways came in calling for the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

His lip curled in a disdainful sneer. The girl probably had some question she would lose sleep over if she did not put it across to the teacher. Hoping to give her a good scare, he had stolen up behind her like he had surprised so many students out after curfew before. He did not expect her to hear him.

Oh well, at least he still had the element of intimidation on his side. Drawing himself up (a pretty foolish move, considering the fact that the shadows hid his actions completely), he had demanded the reason for her unwelcome presence.

She took a step back. "Professor...Snape?"

"No, Miss Granger." The bite of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. "It's Nicholas Flamel. For the last time, why are you here?"

"I don't know." She sounded and seemed genuinely confused as she looked around. "I received a note from Professor Dumbledore with directions leading here. I was under the impression that I would be meeting...someone."

The candles flared to life in their holders at his muttered command, and she could see him raise a contemptuous brow. "Oh? And pray tell, who is that someone?"

"I-I'm not at liberty to say, sir." She cringed inwardly and braced herself for his reaction.

Sure enough, he did not disappoint. "Indeed? And why is that?" He advanced on her, taking a sort of perverse pleasure in the way she backed away.

"I...I—" Her mind whirled. Half of her screamed at her to simply come clean, while the other half told her not to rise to the bait. Both factions had a brief but furious tussle before the former triumphed. "I am t-to meet my Watcher, sir."

He froze mid-step. "Meet your—_what_?" Had he heard correctly, or were his ears playing tricks on him? Did the brat just say 'Watcher'?

Apparently regaining her wits, she stood a little straighter. "My Watcher, sir." Oh, so his ears were not deceiving him. She had indeed uttered that 'W' word.

Oh no. This was all a bad joke. It had to be. He was supposing to be Watching _this_ Gryffindor brat? Merlin, Morgana and Circe! Are the fates conspiring against him or what? Amid the chaos of disbelief and denial in his mind, he grasped desperately at a strand of logic. "Give me that note, Granger."

She watched quietly as he produced his wand from his sleeve and ran some spells over the parchment. His reactions to her reply had been unexpected; for a moment there, she could have sworn he sounded surprised.

"Well, it certainly is authentic," he announced grudgingly at last.

She took it back gingerly, as one do when dealing with a displeased snake. "Thank you, Professor. I'll just go now." She turned towards the door, eager to be out of his sight as soon as possible.

"If memory serves me, you mentioned you were to meet your Watcher here."

She half-turned. "Yes, but...he or she doesn't seem to be here."

"Come now, Miss Granger." His tone had taken on its accustomed acerbity. "It cannot be that difficult to deduce the answer."

Abruptly, the fog of incomprehension lifted from her mind, as though blown away by a strong wind. "You...you are my Watcher?"

"So it would seem." Correctly interpreting her silence, he added, "I am just as happy as you are about it, Granger."

She managed to make it to the nearest desk before her knees gave out. "You have got to be kidding."

"I hardly think this is an appropriate time for childish practical jokes, Miss Granger."

"There has to be a mistake somewhere."

"My thoughts exactly." Merciful heavens, he was actually agreeing with her. The shock must have addled his brain. At least that was what he told himself.

"Professor Dumbledore will know."

"I surmised as much," he forced out through clenched teeth.

"Then what are we waiting for?" In an odd moment of synchronisation, they had both moved towards the door. Of course, it was designed to accommodate the girth of an average man, so they found themselves crashing into each other none too gently.

"After you, Miss Granger," the teacher said exasperatedly. Silencing her protests with one of his legendary glares, he added, voice slicing through the air like a well-honed razor, "Now!"

Sneering as she obeyed, he followed her down the deserted hallway. Though he was as confused as she was, he was glad to see he still retained some semblance of his wits. Upon reaching the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office, he gave the password, and the doorway appeared.

The revolving staircase ground into motion the moment they set foot on its steps. He could feel her fidgeting all the way up to the door.

She had shattered all preconceived notions he had of a Slayer. He had expected one to be tall, slender, and perhaps a redhead, the colour of her hair reflecting a fiery nature. Of course, redheads were rare in the wizarding world, and the first girl that came to mind gave him shudders. (A/N: Guess who:P) But that was beside the point.

She...well, was the exact opposite of everything he had imagined. Brown hair, average height, and much too bookish to be much of a fighter. Perhaps she could simply bore a vampiric adversary into staking himself by reciting the twelve uses of dragon blood and the recipe for the Draught of the Living Death. The thought made him smirk.

"Come in," called the Headmaster as he raised his fist to knock, making him scowl. The old man did like throwing people off balance with that trick of his.

"Professor?" He looked down to see the girl's face turned up to his questioningly. Grimacing, he motioned for her enter first. _Gods help us_, he thought wearily as he shut the door behind him. _There's that infernal twinkle again._

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, smiling benignly at the unlikely pair that had just stepped into his office. In a deceptively innocent tone, he asked, "Children, what brings you here?"

"You know very well yourself, Albus," the younger man snapped irritably. "Why did you send the note directing Miss Granger to the Dark arts classroom.?" Beside him, Hermione looked scandalised at his disrespect, but wisely bit her tongue.

Dumbledore simply raised his brows. "Why?" he echoed. "The Slayer has to meet her Watcher, doesn't she?" Gesturing to the overstuffed chairs before the desk, he added, "Please, take a seat."

Hermione moved to comply, while Snape stubbornly remained standing, glaring furiously at him. "Albus, what are you playing at?"

"This is not a ruse. Severus."

For the first time in her life, Hermione was treated to the sight of her Potions Master at a loss of words. "She's—_she's _the Slayer? Oh Merlin. Albus, it has to be a mistake. I can't have a Gryffindor for a Slayer!"

He simply let him splutter himself into silence before clasping his hands before him. "You can, and you will," he replied gently but firmly. "Hermione Granger is undoubtedly the Slayer, and the Watcher's Council has placed the sacred duty of guiding her on you. I can assure the both of you that there is no mistake."

Snape glared at him for a couple of moments before all the fight seemed to go out of him. Sinking into the remaining chair, he buried his head in his hands. "Tell me this is a dream, Albus. Tell me all of this is just a really bad nightmare and I will be waking up in a minute." The quiet pleading in his words was evident, and Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for the man sitting beside her.

His employer's eyes were kind as he reached across and patted his black-clad shoulder. "Look on the bright side, Severus."

Hermione had to look down to hide a smile at his words. As far as her (thankfully) limited encounters with Professor Snape went, the words 'Severus Snape' and 'optimist' were just as synonymous as 'Hell' was with 'freezing'. His next words gave her thoughts more than sufficient affirmation.

"Where's the bright side?" he all but snarled at Dumbledore, his composure apparently regained. "Here I am, minding my own business, and the bloody codgers at the Council take it into their demented minds to saddle me with a Slayer who just had to be Harry Potter's sidekick—" he continued in that vein for the next ten minutes or so, until Hermione finally lost her patience.

"Excuse me, Professor." He didn't seem to hear her over his own ranting, or ignored her, so she tried again in a much louder voice, "Professor Snape!"

Shocked into silence, he shot her one of his most venomous glares, but she was undeterred. "I'm not any happier than you are about this arrangement, and complaining about the unfairness of it all won't change anything; therefore I think that it would be a great deal more productive if we were to devote our energy and time to our allotted duties rather than sit around and wallow in self-pity."

He had been equal parts incensed and amazed by her monologue, but of course, she didn't have to know that. Lifting his chin, he looked down his nose at her and sneered, "Thirty points from Gry—"

"Severus." The quiet utterance of his name brought him up short. "Miss Granger is right. Grousing about it will accomplish nothing. You have been brought together by circumstances beyond your control, and have your individual roles to play. Roles that may affect the outcome of the war."

"I do not think staking vampires has anything to do with the dark Lord, Albus."

"As you and I are well aware of, a Slayer is not merely responsible for the extermination of vampires, but also other Dark creatures."

"As much as I'm tempted to see the Dark Lord as a beast, I am fairly certain he is still classified as a man, regardless of the gross amount of injustice he does to the term."

Dumbledore sighed at his deliberate obtuseness and turned to Hermione, who was feeling very left out indeed, since she had not been able to get in a word edgewise besides her brisk admonishment to Professor Snape. "It's getting late, Miss Granger. Perhaps you would like to return to your rooms?"

She was about to protest when she caught the meaningful look he was sending her way. "Oh yes. Good night, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape.". Rising, she disappeared from the office as quickly as was humanly possible.

The next morning, his curt note arrived via Floo in her room. It told her to go to his office after dinner that evening in the barest minimum of words, a feat she supposed only he could achieve.

She had a shrewd idea the Headmaster had, in all probability, gave her Watcher a severe talking-to, and ordered him to treat her as he would one of his Slytherins. Grimacing at the thought, she incinerated the short message with a poke of her wand and went down to breakfast.

"Morning Hermione. How's your head?"

She looked blank for a moment before remembering her alibi for the previous evening. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine now, thanks."

"Here's your homework." Harry pushed a piece of parchment towards her. "We stopped by last night, but Malfoy said you weren't in, and we didn't trust him enough to leave it with him. Were you in the Hospital Wing?"

"Yeah." She was thankful for the proffered excuse. Nodding her gratitude, she tucked the parchment into her bag with a cursory glance, beginning to eat from the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon they had saved for. If she was to meet Snape after dinner, she might as well make the most of her day in case he decided to put her out of her misery. _My, my, aren't I getting morbid at the ripe old age of seventeen?_ she thought sardonically.

"Morbid? Why?" Harry asked.

She realised, much to her chagrin, that she spoken aloud. "Nothing, just a random thought." _Hey, I am becoming good at this._

"Dare I ask?"

"Your limited brain cells will be fried trying to comprehend it," she jibed glibly, choosing to fall back on dry humour to cover up her blunder.

"Oh?" Ron had joined in the conversation. "Try us, won't you?"

"I'd rather not. Your mum will come after me if I give you permanent psychological trauma."

A flurried exchange of good-natured barbs ensured, and the moment was forgotten. Yet the guilt lingered. _Soon_, she promised herself. _I'll tell them, just not now. Soon._

The problem was, how soon was soon?

* * *

A/N: Please don't kill me for making Snape her Watcher! I just thought it would be interesting. And I hope he was in character here, cos I try real hard to keep them the way the esteemed JKR conceived them. 

A few comments:

Angel-wingzz: Actually, it was not a conscious act on my part. But yeah, I guess it's Giles. Here's the identity of her Watcher, and I hope you're fine with it.

mira: Don't twirl around so much, you're making me dizzy. Besides, you might fall :P

Hayley: I'm so terribly sorry, but I don't use ICQ. Perhaps you can give me the URL in your review? I really want to have a look at it. Again, sorry (sheepish face)


	5. Irritation

**A/N: **First of all, a heartfelt apology to everyone for not updating lately. I've been given heaps of holiday homework, and am making very little headway, so I'll have to focus on that for the time being. Here's the next chapter. If it's a little substandard, sorry. I had a severe case of writer's block, and it probably shows. As always, reviews are welcome :)

Chapter 4: Irritation

She gulped nervously and scrubbed her clammy hands on her school robe. Alone in the drafty corridor, with nothing but the flickering light of the torches in the wall scones for company, she faced the familair wooden door of the Potions classroom, one she passed through so many times for classes that she scarcely took notice of it. But now, it held a new significance for her.

"Breathe, Hermione," she told herself firmly, reaching out to grasp the doorknob. Flinching at the feel of the icy metal against her palm, she turned it and pushed the door open. The classroom beyond was completely dark, except for the wan light shining in through the doorway, and as quiet as a tomb.

She crossed the threshold of the room and made her way towards a door on the far end, seeing light shining from the bottom of the door, her feet making no noise on the flagstones, stained with countless accidents perpetuated by students over the years.

Tentatively, she rapped on the door. "Professor?"

"Enter," he called sharply as the door swung open of its own accord.

Steeling herself, she stepped into the office, finding her Watcher seated behind his desk, quill moving back and forth in a rather violent manner over a stack of parchments. "Sit, Miss Granger," he ordered crisply without looking up. She complied, settling uncomfortably in the straight-backed wooden chair before his desk. He obviously never expected visitors to stay long, she mused as she sifted, trying to find the softest possible spot on the chair. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Five points for interrupting me, Miss Granger, and you flatter yourself. 'Wanted' is too optimistic a word. I should think 'had' would be more accurate."

She simply folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to get to the point.

He finally deigned to lift his eyes from the parchment to look at her. "Cat got your tongue, Miss Granger?" he inquired mockingly. "I haven't seen you without a forthcoming opinion on anything besides the time you were Petrified in your second year."

She refused to rise to the bait, keeping her tongue in check with the knowledge that he was looking for an excuse to dock more points.

Seeing that she was not about to give him an incentive to do so, he bent to the essays again. "I assumed you read the book the Headmaster gave you?"

"Yes."

"You understand the responsibilities laid upon you as the Slayer?"

"Yes, but—"

"Training is a daily affair, starting from tomorrow. Meet me an hour after dinner in the Potions classroom. Dress comfortably." All this was uttered in a single breath. "You are dismissed."

"But, sir," she burst out impatiently. He fixed her with a glare, and she had to fight to urge to wilt under the heat of it.

"You are dismissed."

She decided to pull a bluff. "Professor Dumbledore said I could ask you any questions I have."

"Did he, now?" She quelled a shudder at his dangerously quiet intonation. "Well, _I _say any queries can wait until tomorrow. You. Are. Dismissed." The last words were enunciated through clenched teeth, and she wisely decided that she had pushed it far enough.

With a hasty 'thank you', she strode out as quickly as her dignity would allow.

0000

She gritted her teeth against the pain as he pressed down with his hand on her back. She had no idea why he was subjecting her to these yoga-esque exercises, but she had a niggling suspicion he was testing her.

At the moment, she was stuck in a position with her legs bent, soles of her feet against each other, and he was forcing her to bend over as far as she could. The muscles of her inner thighs protested quite vocally to such rigourous stretching, and several well-chosen insults for her Watcher came to mind.

He did not seem to take any notice of her discomfort (she figured pigs could fly if he did) and put her through a few more torturous exercises.

"Your flexibility is dismal," he sneered about an hour later.

Managing somehow to get to her feet, she winced and laid a palm on the cold stone wall for support. "With all due respect, sir, I fail to see the connection between my calling and my elasticity, or lack of thereof."

He arched a derisive brow at her. "I must ask the Headmaster to declare a holiday. The Head Girl fails to understand something."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the retort on the tip of her tongue from escaping, silently counting to ten. If he kept this up, her pillow was in for a thorough pummelling that night.

"Your pathetic lack of flexibility, Miss Granger, will hamper your competency in a fight, and perhaps make the difference between life and death." He spoke as he would to a child, condescension positively dripping from every syllable, and she had to make a conscious effort to prevent herself from wiping the infuriating expression off his face.

Forget about him putting her out of her misery. If he was going to treat her like this for the rest of her life, she had better reserve a room for herself in St Mungo's.

"Repeat those exercises nightly." He turned and sat down at his desk, his body language a clear indication that the training session was over.

Muttering darkly to herself, she stalked headlong out of the room in a manner reminiscent of her own cat.

0000

He watched her go, impressed despite himself. She had borne the exercises he had inflicted on her well, not once voicing a complaint. She would need a fair bit of training before she could qualify as a credible fighter, but with her unquenchable thirst to succeed, it should not too difficult a task.

He shook himself bodily. _Listen to yourself, championing the Gryffindor_, he thought disgustedly. _Next thing I know, I'll be wearing Gryffindor colours. _Scowling, he spun and headed for his chambers.

0000

She stamped all the way up to the tower which housed her rooms, positively radiating indignant fury. How dare he deride her like that?

Barking the password to the portrait that guarded the door, she made her way up the stairs and shoved the door to the common room open.

Draco Malfoy looked up from his book on the couch at her. "Having a bad day, are we?" he asked.

"Sod off, ferret boy," she snarled. "Or I'll rearrange your face."

The Head Boy wisely shut up and followed her with his eyes as she strode across the common room, disappearing into her room. Shaking his head, he returned to his book.

* * *

bououou: Hm, good point. I'll be taking that in consideration, but I can't promise anything as yet. Thanks for bringing it up! 

LilacDreams: Thanks for finally reviewing! And I'd rather eat leather before I let 'Arwen' see this :P And do stop twirling, you guys are making me dizzy.

GeekGoddess1: Thanks for reading! And yeah, I'm working on a way to insert Hermione's calling into the Buffy-verse.

Hayley: Yup, we are in quite a fix. Maybe you could email it over. My email address is in my writer's profile : )

Angel-wingzz: Thank you, I'm so flattered. I'm working on the 'revelations' parts, and nope, I don't think there'll be any sort of Hermione-Draco thing. Sorry (sheepish face)

And finally, an advanced Merry Christmas to everyone, cos I won't be around during the Christmas week. Enjoy your hols: )


	6. Abrasions

Right, so I've beaten writer's block into temporary defeat, and here's my celebratory chapter. Hope you'll like : ) Remember to review while you're at it :D

Chapter 5: Abrasions

"Really, Granger, what has gotten into you these days?" Draco couldn't help asking as he watched his sort-of friend ease herself into a chair, gritting her teeth against her aches. "Sat on the beast you call a cat and got shredded to bits?"

"Keep your nose out of my business, Malfoy, before I do something to it that we'll both regret," she shot back peevishly, pulling out a couple of books and a stack of parchment from the bag at her feet. "And Crookshanks is not a beast."

"Ah, then perhaps 'murderous feline' may be more suitable." He smirked unrepentantly at her glare before studying her with uncharacteristic seriousness. "You know, Granger, you should take care of yourself more. You've been like this for days."

"Why, Malfoy, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," came the flat reply. "I just noticed because you live next to me."

"Which is the most unfortunate thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life,"

she all but snapped at him.

"What about the time you were Petrified? I bet you were devastated by the number of lessons you missed."

"Shut _up_, Malfoy."

He simply grinned, knowing he had hit the nail on the head.

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"You are doing a remarkably poor job of concealing your discomfort," Snape commented archly.

She simply looked coolly at him over the quarterstaff she held, waiting for him to elaborate. A week and a half's worth of training had forced her to condition herself against his razor- sharp tongue, the only other option being permanent residence in St Mungo's.

He adjusted her grip on the length of the wood. "Wincing endlessly, moving stiffly..." he reeled off, rapping on the back of her knuckles. "Higher."

She obeyed, trying to concentrate on her exercises with the staff rather than his voice, but the next words bore into her skull relentlessly.

"I'm surprised Potter and Weasley have yet to notice, with your blatant physical marks," he continued, indicating the dark bruises that stood out against the pale skin of her arms and hands. "Surely you have covered Concealment Charms in your classes."

"We have," she answered carefully. "But I consider it a blatant waste of magic, seeing that they will heal and fade over time."

He sat down in a chair nearby, watching her perform the exercises he had shown her three days before. "And Mr Malfoy?"

"He did ask, but I threatened to do him serious bodily harm if he probed any further."

"Ah." He sounded smug. "At least the Head Boy is more perceptive than the two dunderheaded friends of yours."

She stopped herself from rolling her eyes, and checked an impulsive reply_. He had a point though_, a voice inside her conceded. Harry and Ron had been oblivious to her abnormal behaviour, and had no idea of her calling, which was a good thing. Right?

Then why was it she suddenly felt like crying?

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"Hey, mate," Ron was saying at that exact same moment in the Gryffindor Common Room.

The Boy-Who-Lived looked up from his perusal of the parchment before him. "Yeah?"

'D you notice something's up with Hermione lately?" At the significant look his friend gave him, he blushed and added hastily, "Maybe it's me, but she seems to be a little more distant these days, and looking really exhausted. And...the way she moves...it seems different, you know?"

Harry frowned, running ink-stained fingers through his unruly head of hair. "How?"

"I dunno, just more fluidly, I suppose..."

He grinned. "Really, Ron, you two have been dancing round each other since third year. When are you ever going to tell her?"

The redhead turned a deeper shade of crimson, if it was at all humanly possible, and leant in. "You don't suppose she knows, do you?

"Nah, I don't think so." Shaking his head, Harry bent to his homework again, making a mental note to check out Ron's observations for himself.

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Draco looked up from his homework as Hermione trudged into the common room. "You're early today. Back so soon from your exercise routine?"

She made a non-committal noise as she flopped onto the couch. His eyes widened as he saw the bruises dotting her forearms. "What did you do to yourself, Granger?"

She snatched her arms off the desktop. "I—I fell. On the stairs."

"I hardly think staircases can give you those marks. Besides, most of the stairs here in Hogwarts are carpeted."

"Never you mind," she replied brusquely, getting to her feet with a grimace. As she did her now-familiar disappearing act into her room, he shook his head. It wasn't his place to pry, but he figured Potty and the Weasel should be told.

* * *

Angel-wingzz: No, I'm not gonna make it a Hermione-Draco fic, but I hope this chapter wil be to your satisfaction while I beat my writer's block into complete submission. :P 


	7. Suspicions

**A/N**: All right-o, here's the anticipated chapter. I'm starting school, and updates may come more infrequently as a result, since I'm taking my O levels this year. Sigh, I do despise these nationwide examinations, but there's nothing I can do about it... Enough about my ranting. On to the story! (And don't forget to review :P)

Chapter 6: Suspicions

"Pssst! Potter, Weasley!"

Both boys spun at the voice, scanning the corridor for potential danger. When none presented itself, they visibly relaxed. "Who is it?" asked Ron.

"Me." A familiar head covered in slicked-back blonde hair poked out of a wall niche, and immediately found itself on the wrong end of two wands. "Really," drawled Draco, looking not all at perturbed. "Must you put me at wandpoint every time you see me?"

"What are you up to, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, jabbing his wand into his chest.

"Whoa whoa whoa, easy there. Careful with that thing, you could put someone's eye out with that." He made a great show of brushing himself off. "You know, you two disappoint me deeply. Am I so villainous?"

"Actually, yes." Weasley leant in, which was rather disconcerting, as he was taller than Draco by a good bit.

"I'm wounded," he pronounced, clutching his chest in mock-agony

"Cut out the theatrics and tell us what you have up your stinky sleeve."

"It's about Granger." Watching as the two faces before him hardened into identical expressions of accusation, he smothered an inappropriate chuckle and continued," Look, put your wands down and I'll tell you."

"Not even bloody likely," snarled BWL (that was his personal abbreviation for the Boy-Who-Lived).

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he reached into his robes and withdrew his wand. "Here."

Both hesitated for a moment before Potter took the length of rowan, tucking it into his belt.

Draco held his robes open, showing them the lining. "See? I'm unarmed now, and you are. Since I'm not about to hex you in the next few minutes, can you kindly lower your wands now?"

"How do we know if we can trust you?" Weasley inquired.

He rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn't have wasted my time talking to you, would I?"

Slowly, very slowly, the pair of wands came down, and he let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding. Motioning them into the niche, he explained, "Can't have anyone see me talking to two Gryffindors, or my reputation will be completely ruined." _And I'll never hear the end of it from my father_, he added silently.

Ron snorted while Harry exhaled noisily. "Get to the point, Malfoy."

000000000

"D'you reckon he's having us on?" Ron asked Harry as they resumed their walk down the corridor to fetch Hermione for breakfast, as was their routine.

He shrugged. "I dunno, but he did give us his wand and all that, mind you. I wouldn't have gone to so much trouble for a prank if I were him."

"True." They fell into contemplative silence as they waited at the portrait for Hermione to appear. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see, then?"

"Better than that, I've an idea." Gesturing him closer, Harry outlined the details of his plan.

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Hermione stifled a yelp of pain as Harry's elbow nudged her forearm during lunch. "Hasn't anyone told you it's bad manners to have your elbows on the table?" she chided him,

"Sorry, Hermione. Did I hurt you?" The contriteness in his face softened her rising temper.

"No harm done," she replied, flashing him a wan smile. The bruise he had hit was new and rather tender, despite the accelerated healing she was supposed to have as the Slayer, and it _had_ hurt, but he did not have to know that. Rubbing the spot, she returned to her steak and potatoes, missing the meaningful look her two friends were exchanging.

000000000

Ron sighed for about the millionth time, wincing at the tingling that had began in his too-ling-inactive legs. He had been sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor at the bottom of the tower that held the Head Boy and Girl's quarters for the past hour under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, waiting for Hermione to leave so that he could follow.

Idly inspecting his nails, he let his mind drift back to the conversation he had with Harry.

"Well, what'd you think?" he asked as they left Divination (completely useless class, if you ask him, but it was easy to pass).

"I don't think Malfoy was pulling our leg. She _is_ bruised. And you're right, she does move differently, almost—almost..." Harry trailed off, trying to find an appropriate adjective. "Graceful...like...a cat." He frowned. "Is it something we didn't notice, like fourth year, or is it something that just happened?"

"I would have noticed." He felt his ears grow hot when Harry raised his brows at him. "I mean, if it was there all along, we'd have realised, wouldn't we?"

Harry scratched his head thoughtfully. "Yeah," he said slowly. "So it has to be recent..." He stared off into the distance, muttering to himself. Ron let him be, knowing he was thinking hard. At last, he snapped his fingers. "I've got it! We follow her."

"Uh, mate? I don't think she'd be too happy."

"Not like that." Harry shot him a half-exasperated, half-amused look. "Malfoy said she leaves the tower nightly for her exercise routine, or so she claims. It can't be just exercise, it doesn't change the way you carry yourself. It has to be something else."

"Great idea!" Then his face fell as he remembered the amount of homework they had been assigned for various subjects. "What about the Transfiguration essay due tomorrow, and all the other stuff?

"I'll take care of that," said Harry hastily. "You're on duty tonight."

Here, he pulled a face. He was fairly sure he wasn't that bad at his subjects...at least not after Hermione's tutoring.

A quiet click pierced the silence and sent him scrambling to his feet with a muttered oath. Measured footfalls could be heard, moments before his friend came into sight.

Climbing out of the portrait, she paused for a moment, looking down the seemingly empty corridor with a frown. Shrugging to herself, she strode along the passage, the flickering light of the torches reflecting slightly off the coppery colour of her hair.

The change in her was more apparent than ever, perhaps due to the absence of the usual book-laden knapsack on her shoulder and yet more books on her arm. She didn't simply walk, she _glided_.

He was strongly reminded of a panther as he watched her, sleek, elegant and lethal.

He blinked at that. Where had that come from, he wondered. Hermione was no femme fatale, at least, not the last time he checked.

While he was thinking, the subject of his musings was moving further and further away, almost out of sight. Cursing his lapse of attention, he started walking as quickly as he dared, his long legs eating up the distance easily.

Slowing when he was about fifty paces behind Hermione, he trailed in her wake as she made her way down flights of stairs and more corridors.

A sudden draught rushed in through the pane-less windows set high in the walls, and he managed to clutch the Cloak in time to keep it flying off him completely.

He looked up from adjusting it in time to see her reach the end of the corridor. Instead of turning left, down to the castle doors and the grounds beyond, she went right, taking a course which led down into the bowels of the castle.

Surely...not the dungeons?

His fears came true as she descended the short flight of steps into the dungeons. Stopping before the Potions classroom door, she opened it a crack and slipped inside noiselessly.

Spinning on his heel, he hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, his mouth a grim line. There was a great deal he had to discuss with Harry.

* * *

In case anyone was wondering why I made Draco's wand rowan, here's a description of its properties from www(dot)geocities(dot)com/amberladyhawke/mp(dot)html, whichI think is apt for my interpretation of Draco as a character: ROWAN 

Best gathering from January 21 - February 17: The Green Dragon, Duck. Insight and Blessing the Planet Uranus (flame), The Fire Festival of Brigantia Brigid and Brigantia: The Rowan tree was believed to be magical tree which grew red berries that were the food of the Gods. These berries were so sacred that it was believed that the Gods guarded them jealously and kept them from man. The Druids believed that the Creator, Celi who was an invisible god, manifested in nature including the restless elements such as lightning, which was also associated with Dragons. Dragons are associated with new life and thus this period of time is also associated with the coming of new life out of the dark winter.

See the 'coming of new life out of the dark winter' part? I see it as a symbol of him turning to the Light.

Acknowledgements:

Shu Min: Thanks! Dunno when Hermione's gonna get her first vampire, I'm just following the flow of the story as I go. But I promise to include it as soon as I can, though :)

ourlittlesecret7: Woohoo, a new reviewer! Thanks for reading!

DracoKrazee: Nope, I definitely am not in grange middle school. Thanks for reading!

DramaQueen48: Thanks for reading! I haven't received your story, though...


	8. Alliances

**rA/N**: I hope I didn't piss you guys off by updating only now, so here's a sincere apology to all. Thank you for continuing to read (and review) this fic and giving me inspiration, I love you all! And now, here's chapter 8 for ya:

Chapter 7: Alliances

It was two a.m. in the morning, and all was still. All except the Gryffindor Common Room. A fire blazed steadily in the hearth, providing the only illumination in the otherwise dark den. A single pacing figure was the only moving thing, silhouetted by the firelight.

The only other person awake was ensconced in one of two armchairs positioned just inside the cheerful light from the flames, so motionless that one would be given to think that he had fallen asleep.

The snapping of a burning log broke the silence and both jumped. "I just don't understand," Harry said fretfully, running his fingers through hair that already stood from numerous times of tugging and combing.

"It can't be extra credit, Much too late for that," mused Ron for the third time. "And what of the bruises?"

"I don't know." Harry threw himself into the other armchair. "But there's a change in her, definitely. Maybe Snape's conducting experiments on her."

"She'll never agree to that. He'd have to put a hex on her or something." He snapped his fingers triumphantly. "That's it! He probably has her under the Imperius Curse."

Harry made a noise of vexation. "That's an Unforgivable, Ron. As much as we both loathe the overgrown bat, I doubt he would want to risk his job and position for an experiment, however important."

"He's a Death Eater," came the mulish reply. "I won't put it past him."

"He's a spy for our side."

"He's a Slytherin."

He sighed, knowing his friend's bull-headed obstinacy had taken precedence over his common sense. When it made one of its (mostly) dreaded appearances, nothing short of the Killing Curse could make him change his mind. Rather than trying to convince Ron, he looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and tactfully suggested they both sleep on the problem.

He knew neither of them would get much rest, but it was better than waking up the entire tower with a flaming row.

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There was something warm curled up on her chest, and the same something was tickling her nose with bristly wet things. Groaning, she shoved the thing off and cracked one bloodshot eye open. It was Crookshanks, regarding his mistress with reproachful eyes.

"Not now, Crooks." She winced at the sound of the voice that issued from her vocal cords, so raspy and hoarse she could scarcely recognise it. Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the pain that simple motion elicited and grabbed her wand from the nightstand. A few healing spells took care of most of the aches, and she was able to move more easily.

Last night's training had been a complete nightmare. Her Watcher had attempted a sparring match with the staves, and she had emerged rather the worse for wear. He had been merciless with her mistakes, and had given her nothing for her bruises. Even accelerated healing was not enough to repair the damage.

A cold shower did nothing to get rid of her bone-deep exhaustion. Dragging on her uniform and a house robe, she staggered out into the common room.

"Good heavens, Granger! Where did you do, tussle with the giant squid?"

She was too weary to think up a retort. "Get to breakfast, Malfoy, or you'll be late for class."

"It's Saturday." He looked at her, his eyes holding an emotion that, if seen in the eyes of another individual, could have been identified as sympathy. "Go back to bed, you need it."

Grunting, she shut the door behind her. Rising from the couch, he pressed a ear to the wood. He could hear her fall onto the bed with a loud thump, and an indignant meow. After that...nothing.

With a smidgen, just a smidgen, of concern, he tried the knob and found it unlocked. Poor girl had been so tired she had neglected to put the wards back up.

She was already out cold, stretched out flat on her stomach. Her robe had been carelessly thrown into a corner, and her cat was perched on a chair, looking distinctly disgruntled.

Tiptoeing to the bed, he drew the covers up to her neck, leaving just as quietly.

He was about to return to the couch when there was a flurry of knocks on the door. Rolling his eyes, he went to answer it, not in the least taken aback by the two boys standing outside. "What?"

Both looked at him as if he had sprouted an extra head. "We have a study session with Hermione," Harry stated.

He glanced dismissively at the bags slung over their shoulders. "Well, you will have to come back later. She's asleep."

Their identical expressions of disbelief were so perfectly synchronised that he couldn't help smirking. (Malfoys were too elegant for laughing). Ron whipped out his wand and levelled it at his nose. "What have you done to her?"

"Hey," he protested, raising his hands and backing away. "I didn't do anything."

Pushing past him, they paused at the sight of the empty common room. Tossing him a sidelong look his way, Harry crossed the room to Hermione's bedroom door.

"Keep it down," Draco advised, and got a glare for his trouble.

In spite of himself, Harry turned the knob as quietly as possible, mildly surprised that she had left it unlocked, and peeked in. Looking suitably chastened, he nodded at Ron. "He's right."

Draco smirked. "I t—"

"Don't say it," warned Ron, moving to the large table at the far end of the room and sitting in one of the chairs.

"We'll wait here till she wakes." Harry appropriated another chair.

"Quiet, you two!" he hissed. If looks could kill, he would have been a medical miracle. "Really, can't you two be a little more considerate?"

"Tell you what, Malfoy," Weasley said bluntly. "We won't bother you, and you can pretend we don't exist."

"Fair enough." He sank onto the couch with a sigh, silently applauding Granger for being able to put up with such friends. _I'm one to talk_, he thought to himself with a wry twist of his lips. To call Crabbe and Goyle his _friends_ was a gross insult to the term. The only reason he let them tag along everywhere was because his father said so.

He cast a jealous look at the backs of the two boys. How was it like to have people whom you can laugh with and share your deepest, darkest secrets with without worrying they might turn them on you in future? He had never known such a bond. The Slytherin definition of friendship was more strategic alliances; annoying necessities that help them get by. They kept each other at emotional arm's length, rarely sharing what was more than necessary, and had even less physical contact.

The Three Musketeers' relationship was poles apart from what he had been brought up with. From what he had seen, they did almost everything together and had stuck by one another come hail or hellfire, unlike his fellow housemates, who had an interesting knack for vanishing extremely quickly at the faintest whiff of trouble. Sometimes, they even left skid marks.

"Look at me," he whispered ruefully. "I'm going soft."

And for once, he was not ashamed to admit it.

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She woke slowly, feeling a great deal more rested than she had been earlier on. Stretching gingerly, she jumped at the chime of the grandfather clock and gasped. She was due for a study session with the boys! How churlish of her to have forgotten it.

Jumping out of bed, she whisked the wrinkles out of her school uniform with a quick charm and swapped it with a sweater and jeans. Figuring the boys would be waiting for her in the library, she tossed her textbooks into a bag and flung open the door, only to stop short at the sight of her boys (that was what she affectionately thought of them) seated at the large table, working, and Draco Malfoy on the couch.

Both parties were ignoring each other quite studiously, and for the first time in her memory, there was no exchange of verbal barbs. All three looked up at the sound of her door. Draco simply gave her a curt nod while Harry and Ron got up, gathering their things. Standing aside so that they could enter, she listened as they made themselves comfortable in her room, watching the Slytherin draped over the cushions. "Draco?"

He lifted his head. "Yeah?"

"Thanks." Bestowing a fleeting smile his way, she shut the door. Somewhat dazedly, she emptied her bag, joining the boys on the floor.

"You okay?" Ron's question jolted her back to reality.

"Yeah, you don't usually miss breakfast," Harry chimed in.

She heaved an inward sigh. Ah well, it was back to business.

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For a few minutes, it was all he could do to stare at the closed door. She had called him by his name! And thanked him! And, most of all, she had _smiled_ at him, a genuine, sincere smile! He couldn't remember the last time he had been on the receiving end of something like that.

_Thud, thud. _The thunderous rapping at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Sighing, he went to answer it, knowing it was his two hanger-ons. They were the only ones beside Potter and Weasley who knew the password to the tower.

"Hi, Draco."

He sighed, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Yes, Crabbe?"

"Let's go and rough up the house elves for some food."

He checked the clock and arched a brow at the heavy-set boy. "It's only an hour and a half after breakfast."

"But we're hungry."

He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Of course you are," he replied with exaggerated patience. "But I'm not."

"Is the Mudblood around?" Goyle suddenly asked, cracking his knuckles. "We could use a little exercise."

"She's not a—" he caught himself just in time. "—I mean, don't ever let Dumbledore hear you say that. Besides, you can't beat her up here, any moron with a teaspoon of brains can figure out who did it."

"Okay, Draco." The two gorillas lumbered down the stairs and out of sight.

Shoving the door shut, he slumped against it with a sigh, his hand covering his eyes. What was he thinking, defending Granger? And why had he felt an odd ache of emotion when he saw her looking like hell earlier on? And why, in the name of all that is logical, did he tuck her in?

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I don't give a damn about her." _Well, that wasn't strictly true_, said a voice in his head. _I do give a damn. Maybe two._

Exhaling loudly, he turned his eyes to the ceiling, expecting the proverbial bolt of lightning to strike him any minute. What the heck was wrong with him?

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"I'm surprised you didn't kill Malfoy back there," Hermione remarked candidly as they got ready to go down to lunch.

Ron grinned. "Yes, well, we agreed not to bother each other, since you were sleeping."

"That was awfully sweet."

"He didn't hex you or anything, did he?"

"Nah." She flapped her hand at him. "In fact, he was the one who told me to get back to bed when he saw me this morning. I think I looked like I'd been in a fight or something."

Harry twitched his eyebrows at Ron, who took his cue. "What were you doing last night to get in that state?"

Dang, not another slip of the tongue. "I was studying," she lied shamelessly. "In the library. I tripped on the stairs because I was reading as I walked. It's okay," she added quickly at their looks of concern. "I used a couple of healing charms."

"It's okay then?" Harry inquired, not believing her at all.

"Yeah." She smiled too brightly. "Now, why don't you go ahead first? I need to take a shower."

Both looked at each other and shrugged. "We'll see you later. Don't take too long, or there won't be any food left for you."

"Save some for me then, and not in your stomach, Ron." Laughing at the mock outrage on his face, she shooed them out.

Pulling a face at the door, he looked at Harry. "She's not going to tell us, is she?"

"Any fool can see that. But how..." Green eyes focused on the blonde head peeking over the back of the sofa. "Malfoy."

To his never-ending confusion, Harry made a beeline for his target. "Malfoy."

The boy looked up with an expression of bored disinterest. "What?"

"Did you see Hermione come in last night?"

He thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I went to bed early."

Harry paused, and Ron could see that he was in a bit of a internal struggle. "Malfoy," he said at last, looking as if the act of speaking pained him a great deal. "Can you do me a favour?"

He smirked. "Depends. What do I get from it?"

Ron was about to snap at his insolence, but Harry checked him with an upraised hand. "You live next to Hermione. I need you to help us keep an eye on her, watch her comings and goings."

He cocked his head. "Are you trying to find out why she has so many injuries these days?"

Harry hesitated for a second, and decided to be honest. "Yes."

"Very well. I'll see what I can do."

Ron was taken aback by his willingness to help, but he didn't have the chance to voice it. Harry simply gave a terse nod and a brief smile. "Thank...you. Come on Ron, let's go."

Still trying to come to terms with the events of the past few minutes, he followed his friend to the door.

Harry turned, his hand on the knob. "And Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

I'm placing my trust in you. Take care of her."

Draco saluted him. "Will do."

* * *

Acknowledgements: 

Elfie: Haha, thanks. You aren't too bad yourself.

ourlittlesecret7: Thank you! Hope you'll like this chapter.


	9. Ruminations

**A/N: **I'm SOOOO sorry! Darned reality has chosen to throw lots of things my way these two weeks, and with my writer's block returning with a vengeance, I was overwhelmed. Many apologies! Anf for those who celebratethe Lunar New Year, here's a Happy Chinese New Year to all of you!

This is a chapter which is more of the introspective kind, I hope you guys don't mind :)

Chapter 8: Ruminations

For a moment, Harry wondered how it had all come down to this; allying himself with a Slytherin and putting one of his best friends under surveillance like some dangerous criminal.

_We're all growing up_. The thought was bittersweet. _We keep things from each other now. _Wistfully, he recalled the halcyon times of days long past, when all that mattered was Quidditch and keeping up in his schoolwork.

He was well aware that any semblance of childhood he might have had was long gone, that his destiny had aged him prematurely. Shaking his head self-deprecatingly, he perched himself on the window seat and gazed out the window at the still, silent grounds. So deceptively tranquil that one could almost forget that beyond the boundaries of Hogwarts, the culmination to a long, bitter war was brewing.

Ron had volunteered for 'shadow duty', as they had dubbed it, tonight, so he was the only one left in the common room at this time of the night, waiting for his friend to return.

His mind drifted back to that afternoon, when he had asked Draco to keep an eye on Hermione for them. The boy's eagerness to chip in had surprised him as much as it had Ron. His impression of him had been unpleasant thus far, and he had done nothing to remedy it, which was why he and Ron had objected so strongly when they learnt Hermione had to share quarters with him. Their consternation had only softened ever so slightly when she assured them he was quite all right, albeit a little annoying.

He remembered they had come to an agreement of sorts to put aside the centuries-old rivalry between their respective houses. Perhaps that had been the beginning of their odd friendship. Hermione did mention that he had less qualms going to her for help on homework every now and then, and in turn, he allowed her free access to his personal collection of books.

A vague sense of guilt haunted him for doubting Malfoy. After all, he had been the one to make them realise something was definitely off with Hermione, and he could see that he did care for her in his own way, so he figured he deserved some slack. After all, he wouldn't have done it if he cared nothing for Hermione.

Looking at the clock over the fireplace, he exhaled loudly and leant his head against the cool glass of the window, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ lying open and forgotten in his lap. For the first time, the multitude of manoeuvres and strategies failed to take his mind off things.

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Hermione treaded the corridors, taking a path that had become familiar to her since she had come into her calling. The passages were deserted, as they always are at this time of the day—or night. The students were all closeted in their respective common rooms, doing homework or relaxing.

Briefly, she felt a twinge in her chest at the memories that rose unbidden, of Harry, Ron and herself sprawled in the common room, the two boys begging to borrow her homework and she telling them off for their work ethics. It was a simple tableau that she had taken for granted before she was made Head Girl, and sacrificed unknowingly when she relocated to her current quarters. She missed the laidback atmosphere and easy camaraderie of the Gryffindor Common Room with housemates everywhere. Most of the boys would be playing either wizard chess or Exploding Snap, she remembered, and the girls would be congregating in their respective cliques, gossiping and giggling over, well, girly things she had never taken much interest in.

Now, it was only Draco and herself in their common room. He wasn't a poor conversationalist, but it still could never match up to the collective presence of many people holed up in the same cosy room.

The hiss of a torch brought her back to reality. The high narrow passages always made her insignificant, especially when they were deserted. The weathered stone of the floor and walls bespoke of immeasurable years, innumerable students coming and going, of countless thunderstorms unleashing its wrath upon the castle.

Torches were placed at regular intervals along the walls, casting dancing shadows about her, hypnotic in their playful weaving and flickering.

Her footsteps were the only sound that penetrated the almost suffocating silence as she made her way down to her Watcher. Or was it?

There it was again! A nearly imperceptible noise she would have missed if not for her enhanced senses. She stopped and spun in one swift motion, eyes scanning the path behind her. There was no one.

She frowned. There were no convenient side passages or wall niches for anyone to slip into at the spur of the moment, and she hadn't heard any muttered spell, so it was technically impossible for someone to have been behind her. Oh well, maybe it was just paranoia.

Shrugging to herself, she turned back and resumed walking, trying futilely to shake the feeling of unseen eyes trained on her

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Ron let out the breath he had been holding once she stopped frowning in his general direction. Making a conscious effort to soften his footfalls this time, he followed her down the same path she had taken the last time. It should have been Harry's turn, but he had volunteered to take over.

He wanted, _needed_ to know why Hermione was so tight-lipped over this thing, whatever it was, she had going on. Deep down, a part of him knew it was not just concern for a platonic friend that had spurred him to this, that it was definitely personal, but his conscious mind conveniently ignored this, and he crept on.

Like the previous time, she opened the door just a crack and slithered in, shutting it too fast for him to slip in after her. Scowling, he withdrew his wand. "Alohomora!"

Nothing happened. Apparently, Snape had put up wards that repelled that particular charm, and he did not know any other spells that could unlock doors without blasting them off their hinges. Huffing, he sank down to the stone floor, wincing as the chill of the masonry permeated the fabric of his jeans and raised goosebumps on his skin.

Fervently hoping that the Potions Master had overlooked the Silencing Charm, he pressed his ear to the door.

* * *

P.S.I know the pace of this story may be a tad draggy right now, but I need to get all this stuff out of the way first, so I hope you'll understand. Thanks. : ) 

ourlittlesecret7: Yes, I'm still trying to figure out how to put in a vampire, because unless one is stupid enough to walk right into Hogwarts, it's highly unlikely she'll run into one, isn't it?

humanoid: Yeah, I know about the waiting, but it can't be helped. Sorry :S

The rest of you guys, Angelwingzz, Kail Ceannai, bououou and the others, where have you gone? (sniff)


	10. Revelations: Part I

**A/N**: Okay, it's been quite a while. A huge apology to all, 'cos I couldn't get the intended effect I had aimed for here. Hope you guys won't hold it against me (and remember to review :P)

Chapter 9: Revelations I

Her Watcher was seated behind his desk in the classroom, reading. He looked up at her entrance. "You're early, Miss Granger, for once."

Ignoring the snide dig, she deposited her outer robe on another worktop, moving to the centre of the cleared floor and beginning her warm-up exercises wordlessly.

He snapped his book shut just as she was completing her exercises, the sudden sharp sound cutting through the silence of the classroom and making her flinch. "Come," he said. "I have something to show you."

"Will I get bruised for it?" The question escaped before she could swallow it. Cringing inwardly, she prepared herself for a severe tongue-lashing.

Surprisingly, he simply arched a brow at her. "Was that a complaint, Miss Granger?"

"Oh no, sir, just curiosity."

He made no answer to that. Standing up, he strode to the door on a side of the teaching dais. A few muttered words later, he pushed it open and disappeared inside, leaving her to trot in after and shut the door. _How gentlemanly_, she thought sarcastically as she settled herself into the cold stiff chair before the desk.

The office had not changed since the last time she had been in it. Spartan furnishings, shelves bearing rows and rows of neatly labelled jars. Two stacks of parchment stood on one corner of the desk. red slashing scrawls marring the uniformity of black-inked words on the surfaces.

"Here," he said, pulling her attention from the essay at the very top of the stack closest to her. Taking the sheet he held out, she noted that it was regular white Muggle paper, and not parchment.

She spent the next few moments scanning the brief missive, absently gnawing on her bottom lip.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his questioningly, and he nodded wordlessly. "Does this mean—"

"Yes." He straightened in his chair and steepled his fingers. "How it was actually done, I have no idea, but my colleague has promised to look into it."

"It doesn't have anything to do with You-Know-Who, does it?"

His posture stiffened the slightest bit as he shook his head. "No, I don't believe so."

She hesitated before forging ahead with her next question. "He...didn't mention anything about an attack, did he?"

"That's none of your business, Miss Granger." His back was ramrod-straight, his face a blank mask. "If you would be so kind, I would like to commence with your training."

"Yes sir." Mentally kicking herself, she stood up from the chair and meekly followed him back into the classroom. However, instead of stopping in the cleared space in the middle of the floor, he bypassed it in favour of yet another door which materialised at a flick of his hand. "Sir?"

"We will be trying something different today. Yesterday's session proved that you have grasped the basics, with plenty of room for improvement, if I might add." The door swung open obediently at his spoken command, and he swept through. Moving to the portrait opposite the doorway, he did something to it, causing it to swing aside and reveal a rich mahogany cupboard set into the wall behind it.

She gasped as he slid the doors aside. Rows and rows of armaments hung on hooks or rested in brackets in the niche, all of them polished to a flawless shine. She identified a crossbow, a set of throwing knives and a mace among the array of weaponry displayed before her, each looking as lethal as the last.

"They are beautiful..." she whispered reverently as she stepped forth to get a better look.

He acknowledged her breathless wonder with a nod, plucking various daggers and knives from their holders. "We will try out hand-to-hand fighting today, beginning with bare-handed close quarters combat. If you prove adequate in that, we could try the knives."

That night, she threw herself into the lesson with a vengeance. On retrospect, she had only an inkling why.

Somehow, the sight of the weapons store had ignited a roaring fire within her, a drive to hone herself into a blade as sharp and efficient as they are, and most terrifying, a drive to kill, to destroy.

She was not a fighter by nature, she knew that quite clearly, but the spark was there, had always been, dormant, waiting to be stirred. She had buried herself so resolutely in books and learning in hopes of suppressing the random violent urges she got every now and then and deny it the necessary kindling, but now she welcomed its awakening with arms wide open. And now it motivated her like nothing else ever had.

All the previous times she had participated in skirmishes had been nothing compared to this. Harry was always the man of the moment, the one who did most of the legwork that mattered in those fights. All she and Ron had to do was to ensure no one hexed his arse off in the thick of the fray. It took an enormous amount of concentration, leaving no room at all for the heady adrenaline rush.

She was almost sorry when Professor Snape finally ended the session. "Good night, sir," she said, mostly out of courtesy than anything else. He never returned her greeting, and she expected no less of him.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke. "Miss Granger?"

She looked back over her shoulder. "Yes sir?"

"The Dark Lord does not consider the Watchers' Council a threat."

She inclined her head at his acknowledgements of sorts. "Thank you, sir."

Receiving a quick, sharp nod in reciprocation she left for her quarters, deep in thought,

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Ron Weasley walked away from the dungeons in a daze, so preoccupied that he nearly missed treading on Mrs Norris's tail.

Harry was waiting for him on the windowseat. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"I—I..." The weight of his conclusion finally went came crashing through his consciousness and he sank into an armchair, kness too weak to hold him up.

"Spit it out, mate," he prodded impatiently. "What has got you so shaken up?"

The expression he saw when the pale face lifted was enough to make his blood freeze in his veins. "I...I think Hermione's having a relationship with Snape.

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"Okay, let's go over this once more," said Harry, pacing the length of the floor. "You heard him telling her that he has something to show her, and she asked if she will get injured for it?"

"Bruised," Ron corrected.

Spinning on his heel, he retraced his steps across the carpet. "And then you heard their footsteps receding and the closing of a door."

"Yes."

"When they came back out, he asked her if she was ready, but he didn't say what for, and she answered in the affirmative."

He nodded in confirmation. "I left right after that. I would have been sick if I stayed any longer."

Harry frowned, eyes staring off at a point of the wall. "That doesn't sound like Hermione at all..."

"I _told_ you he had her under Imperius."

"No, Ron, can we look at this and examine it from every angle before jumping to a conclusion?"

"Can there any other reason for her visiting him at this time of the day, and acting all secretive?"

Harry halted in the middle of the room, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "None I think of."

A faintly triumphant smile graced his lips. "You see my point, don't you?"

His friend's next words wiped the expression off his face. "No. Hermione wouldn't do that. You and I both know very well she's a stickler for the rules, and Snape is a teacher, after all."

Ron sighed the sigh of the aggravated. "Does the words 'Imperius' and 'curse' ring a bell anywhere, mate?"

Harry shook his head vehemently. "Listen, if she is really under the Curse, she will be acting unlike her usual self, and we would have noticed."

"Ah," Ron said with a distinct air of superiority. "That's easy. She's been withdrawn and all."

"That, too," he conceded reluctantly.

They sat in glum silence until Harry snapped his fingers suddenly, making Ron jump. "Malfoy. He would know."

"You trust that ferret?" He flinched at the volume of his exclamation, and lowered his voice. "You honestly do?"

Harry rolled his eyes heavenward in a gesture of exasperation. "For goodness's sake, Ron, if Draco had realy wanted to get rid of Hermione, he would have done so in the first few months they moved into the same tower, wouldn't he? For once, will you please overlook the idiotic house rivalry and see him as a human being, however annoying he is?"

Ron blew out a long breath, looking down at his lap. A few minutes had passed when he finally lifted his head again. "Very well, for Hermione's sake."

The rare bit of maturity surprised him, and he grinned encouragingly. "See? That wasn't so bad after all."

"But I don't have to like him, do I?"

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Draco Malfoy frowned as he heard the banging on the door. It was probably Crabbe and Goyle again, despite the fact he had sent them off a few seconds ago. Aborting his attempt to get to his room, he turned sharply and yanked the door open. "What are you—" His complaint died midway.

"Hello to you too, Malfoy," replied Harry Potter wryly. Behind him, Ron Weasley stood, silent, his face blank.

"Hermione's not back yet. I'll tell her you guys dropped by." He was about to shut the door when Harry slapped an open palm against it, effectively halting its progress,

"We wanted to talk to _you._"

His first response was to sneer at them and slam the door shut in their faces, but he clamped down tightly on that urge. "Yes?" he asked warily.

"Can we come in?"

"Would you go away if I said no?" In spite of his words, he stood aside to allow them entry. "Nothing's out of the ordinary with Hermione, if that's what you want to know." He winced inwardly at the brusqueness in his tone. The abrupt appearance of Hermione's friends threw him off, made him unsure. He wasn't used to civility with them.

"It's not that. Has Hermione been acting anything out of the ordinary?"

He knitted his brows. "How so?"

"Out of character, not like her usual self."

He cocked his head for a moment, then shook it. "No. Studious and bossy as ever." He watched as they exchanged a commiserating smile, feeling a pang in the region where his heart ought to be. Yet another reminder of what he could never have.

"Ron suspected she was having an...uh..." Harry's face coloured. "Relationship with Snape. Professor Snape," he amended in deference to the boy's perception of the professor, which was undoubtedly more pleasant that theirs.

Draco simply stared. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"

"No. At least that was what Ron interpreted from eavesdropping on them."

"You're joking." He collapsed into fits of disbelieving laughter before he could stop himself. It was quite some time before he finally mastered his mirth, only to find them staring at him as if he had grown an extra head.

"What?" he asked between gasps.

"The great Malfoy laughs," Ron observed solemnly. "Oh my, I think I feel a little faint. He laughs!" Laying the back of his hand across his forehead, he pretended to swoon onto the couch.

All three burst out laughing, sounding in that moment, likethe young men they are at the core of their beings,careless, vibrant with the possibilities life had to offer.

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Hermione clambered into the portrait hole and climbed the steps, shivering slightly as perspiration evaporated from her skin.

Near the top, she raised her brows at the sound of three boys chattering away at the top of their voices. Initially, she supposed they were Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy, but on closer inspection...

"Harry?" she murmured in disbelief. "_Ron_?"

Bolting up the remainder of the steps, she flung the door open, her jaw dropping at the tableau before her.

Harry was curled up on one side of the couch, with Draco and Ron holding pillows, poised to pummel him.

"Who are you and what have you done with my boys?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

"What do you mean, 'who are you'?" Draco echoed, affecting an air of injured innocence.

"We're still 'your boys'," Ron assured her.

"But—but..." she fumbled to put her thoughts into words. "You, and you, and..."

"Hello, Dorothy."

"I must be dreaming. I really am dreaming." She pinched herself. "Okay, I'm not. All right...what are you doing here?"

The wide grins faded from their faces, and they looked at each other, looking very much like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

She scowled. "What are you three up to?"

"We...uh..." Draco stammered.

Ron scuffed his shoe against the carpet and said something indistinct.

"Speak up!" she ordered, supremely brassed off.

"WhydoyougodowntothedungeonstoSnapeverynight?" Ron asked in a rush.

"'Why do I—'" Suddenly everything fell into place, the odd camaraderie they had developed, the feeling that someone was staring at her... "Have you been following me?" she all but shrieked.

All three boys, though taller than her in stature, cowered in the face of the impending onslaught of wrath that was to come. "Well, uh, we were just concerned for you..." Ron offered tentatively.

"Concerned?" she repeated stridently. "Concerned? You are invading my privacy, that's what you are." Shoving past them, she stalked into her room and slammed the door so hard Draco was rather surprised the hinges didn't give way.

"So, now that we have put our collective foot in our mouths, what do we do?" Harry piped up in a hushed voice.

He stared at him. "You're asking me? I thought you are the one who's supposed to know!"

Harry flopped onto the couch. "Well, anything we're going to do, we'll have to wait till she's completely cooled down."

"Why don't you go back to the tower first?" he suggested. "Come back tomorrow..."

"Good idea," Ron declared, heading for the door. "Coming, mate?"

Tumbling off the cushions with a sigh of resignation, he cocked an eye at the blonde boy. "You had better vamoose too, before she appears and castrates you."

"I know that," came the dry reply. "Nearly became a bloody eunuch after a slip of the tongue in front of her,"

That drew a sympathetic grin from them. "Good night, Malfoy."

"Same to you, Potter, Weasley."

The door shut behind them, and he was left alone in the common room.

He couldn't believe how well they had got along for the past hour or so, he had felt almost like one of them, not all Draco Malfoy, the ferret-boy from Slytherin.

He rubbed his face tiredly, thinking it was all too much to handle, his sudden bond with the Three Musketeers, Hermione's secret rendezvous with Professor Snape...

The clicking of a doorknob broke through his pensive trance, and he fled into the sanctuary of his room.

* * *

Hayley: Hey, you're back (frowns) I don't throw things at people, you know, much too violent for my taste. 

Anigen: Yay, a new reviewer :D I go with the flow of the plot, and end the chapter when I feel that it's appropriate. Hope you don't mind.

humanoid: Yeah, I know. Still working on updating regularly.


	11. Revelations: Part II

**A/N**: Hey, I'm back again! Sorry to make you guys wait, I had a few personal issues to sort out and a god-awful workshop I was forced to attend : ). Hope you guys aren't too mad at me...anddon't forgetto review!

Chapter 10: Revelations II

Hermione was pissed. No, scratch that, way beyond pissed. Make that furious enough to rip the head off anyone that had the misfortune to cross her path whist she was in this mood.

She couldn't believe they had done this to her. "Insensitive gits," she growled to the room at large.

"What has got you so riled up?" asked a sleepy voice from the far wall. It belonged to a gilt-framed mirror that hung there. She had no idea what its purpose was, but it seemed to enjoy giving her tips on clothing and hair management (which she admittedly needed, but she wasn't about to acknowledge that she took advice from a reflective object charmed to talk.)

"Those boys!" she burst out in a fit of indignation. "Oh, they will be the death of me one day!"

"Which of them boys is it? And what did they do this time?" asked the mirror, sounding a little more awake. Evidently, it was a bit of a nosy parker.

"All three of them got together and decided to follow me," she huffed. "Which is utterly inconsiderate and incredibly nosy of them."

"Did they tell you why?"

"They wanted to know where I went every night."

"Ah, then I beg to differ, dearie. Only someone with no heart wouldn't worry about your hurts. They are concerned for you, after all."

She glared at the enchanted object. "Now even you are taking their side."

"I most certainly am not," came the even reply. "I am merely stating a fact which you overlook in your righteous anger. They only do so because you matter to them, not because they thought they'd have a lark by stalking you."

She threw herself onto the bed. "Go back to sleep, mirror."

"Mull over what I just said a little, and you'll agree with me."

Silence ensued after that, her mirror having gone back to hibernation. (Although she had yet to fathom why mirrors needed sleep).

She lay still and silent for a while, staring up at the canopy. She hated to admit it, the blasted thing did make sense, and perhaps her fury had been misplaced.

But it still pissed her off that it had occurred to none of them to ask her first before they had banded together in their covert operations. Maybe it was their exclusion of her; maybe it was their sudden fellowship that made her uneasy, at least on a subconscious level.

_Well, any rate you wouldn't have told them even if they asked, would you? _muttered her inner voice of reason. _So it's partly your fault, really._

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling her wrath ebb with the exhalation. Crookshanks, sensing the change in his mistress's mood, crept out from the space underneath her bed, jumping up beside her and regarding her warily.

Smiling, she reached out and scratched his ruff. "Isn't it nice to be a cat?" she murmured to him. "No need to worry about relationships and people's perceptions of you and all that complex stuff."

His only reply was to purr contentedly and roll over onto his back.

She sat up, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming her and making her yawn. Deciding her jumbled thoughts could wait for the morrow, she forced herself to take a shower before surrendering to dreamless slumber.

000000000

"All right, how 'bout this: 'Hermione, we're sorry for what we did and we won't repeat it again'?"

"What are we, naughty schoolboys brought before the headmaster? Definitely not."

"Then what would have us say?" demanded Harry in exasperation, throwing down the quill in his hand. The parchment on the table before the three boys was covered with scribbles and long black slashes crossing out various statements.

"As long as you sound apologetic, it's fine by me what we say," Draco told him just as testily. "Now will you please get out of my room so that I can change?" Indeed, he did look a sight: wrinkled and creased pyjamas, rumpled hair—it was the first time Ron had seen him so dressed down, and well, human.

"We have to face the music sooner or later, so I'm thinking better sooner than later." He stood and stretched, feeling his joints pop. It had not been a restful night for him or Harry.

"Yeah." Harry stood as well and picked up his bag, shuffling for the door. "I can't wait for it to be over so that I can get some coffee."

They filed out into the common room, where they sat side by side, staring blankly at nothing, dreading the confrontation they had come to face.

Hermione's door soon opened, and she stepped out, her face darkening at the sight of the occupants of the couch. "What are you two doing here?"

"Um, to apologise?" suggested Ron, all his carefully rehearsed lines fleeing out of the window as he looked into the stormy eyes of his friend.

She seemed ready to speak when Draco's door creaked open, and he emerged. "Geez, couldn't you spare me some time to comb my hair before you begin?"

He faltered at the look all of them were giving him. "All right, I guess not."

"Your hair's fine," hissed Harry through clenched teeth as he planted himself beside them.

"Right, I'm waiting." Hermione crossed her arms, looking at them expectantly.

000000000

This was absolutely surreal. Draco Malfoy had never expected to be sitting before a Muggleborn witch like an errant child, and beside Potter and the Weasel.

It just had to be the most laughable moment of his life.

Harry's voice brought him back from his mental holiday. "Um, yeah, so we agreed to keep tabs on you, because we wanted to see who was beating you up so badly."

The witch in question sighed. "I can't say I'm not mad at you for doing everything behind my back, but seeing part of the blame lies with me, I suppose I shouldn't be taking you to task." They all looked up as the clock chimed. "Meet me here after dinner, and I'll explain everything to you, okay? Now, let's get to breakfast before everyone finishes all the food."

They all scurried out of the common room and hurried down the corridor, and loathe as he did to part ways with them, he had to, to deflect suspicion. There were many of his fellow Slytherins only too happy to tattle on him to his father in return for a few favours, and he wasn't at all keen to give them an incentive to do so.

000000000

Hermione fought against the rushing wave of students only too eager to leave the classroom. Once she was free of the crush of bodies and bags, she approached the teaching dais cautiously. "Professor?"

His head snapped up, eyes sweeping the vacant classroom before settling on her. "What are you doing?" he hissed angrily. "You can't do anything to arouse their suspicions that you and I are anything more than teacher and student."

She felt like rolling her eyes, but curbed the urge. "It is not uncommon for me to stay behind after classes to ask the teacher for extra-credit assignments, Professor."

"But not in my case!"

"I could spread a false rumour that I'm planning to pursue a career relating to Potions," she returned smoothly

He sat down behind his chair and pulled a stack of parchment towards him. "What is it?"

"Draco, Harry and Ron have been following me down to the dungeons for some time. They want to know why I keep coming down these days. What should I tell them?"

He arched a brow at her. "And you only know now that they have been trailing you because they told you?"

She bristled at his insinuation. "Well, I did sense...something, but couldn't detect any tangible reason for that and marked it down to my imagination."

"Such dismissal will cost you your life someday."

She decided not to acknowledge that. "The boys, Professor? What do I tell them?"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "As I recalled, Professor McGonagall told me she gave you permission to inform Potter and Weasley about it."

"Yes..."

"Then tell them everything. Trust Mr Malfoy at your own risk."

"He's quite alright," she told him offhandedly. "He's even speaking to Harry and Ron."

"He—what? I can't have my Slytherins fraternising with those dunderheads!"

Once again, she resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Just a few words. It's not as if they are doing homework together or something." _I think_, she added silently.

"Very well, then. Don't you have a class to go to?"

Glancing at her timepiece, she yelped and scurried out.

000000000

'_Tell them everything'. _She mentally snorted. _Easier said than done, since it's not him who's doing it._

She had fled to the tower after dinner to compose her thoughts in isolation, and was now in a fit of anxiety. She was uncertain of their reaction to her news. Would they accept or reject her?

Even in the magical world, her story was rather absurd. After all, the Slayer was but a figure of myth and legend, and even the purebloods dismissed it as codswallop. Her Watcher had said as much.

But if the Dark Lord were to get wind of this... She shuddered. She did not fancy the idea of being brought before him and made to do his bidding. No, she would rather die than serve such ameglomaniacal bigot, scorning Muggles when he himself had their blood running through his veins.

A flurry of knocks rudely dragged her from her pensive trance, and she squared her shoulders before answering the door. "Where's Draco?"

"Still with Crabbe and Goyle, I reckon, Ron and I saw them outside the Transfiguration classroom not too long ago."

"You are going to trust him?" Harry asked as they made themselves comfortable on the couch.

"Well, since he was in on the whole fiasco, I don't see why not."

"Point taken." He looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, he's changed a lot."

"Tell me about it. I live with him, remember?"

He grinned in apology. "I think it's precisely because of that."

"Nonsense. Being Head Boy, he can't go round making fun of Muggleborns and Gryffindors, can he?"

"Yes, but it's highly unlikely that he will change just because of that."

"Indeed?"

Ron had been looking from one to another, as one does in a tennis match, and he thought he might as well throw in his two cents' worth. "Harry's right."

She sighed tolerantly and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You two think too much."

Just then, the door opened and in came Draco Malfoy. "Speak of the devil," muttered Harry.

"What was that?" He stretched himself out before the fireplace. "Alright, so I'm here. What have I missed?"

"Nothing," she told him. "I was about to begin." She hesitated when three pairs of eyes and ears turned to her expectantly. "Promise me you won't interrupt, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, she barged on with the whole tale.

000000000

Silence reigned when she finished her explanations.

"Sooo, let me get this straight," Draco finally spoke up, holding up an open palm. "One: you are the Slayer. Two: your job is to get rid of the abominations on this earth for us poor humans and wizards alike—"

"It's not that—" she began to interrupt hotly, but he wagged a finger at her, as one does at an impudent child.

"Don't cut me off now, Hermione. Now, where was I? Three: Professor Snape is the chap who's supposed to guide you. Four: Dear old Voldemort must not find out about this." He paused. "Did I get everything right?"

"Ye-es."

"Who picked you to be the Slayer, really?" Ron interjected.

She shrugged. "Even the Watchers' Council didn't know."

"'Didn't? Does that mean they do now?"

"No, Harry. I'm speaking of them in the past tense because they no longer exist." She blew out a breath and squashed herself between Harry and Ron. "Professor Snape just received word last night that the Council has been destroyed. Eyewitness accounts describe it going up in a ball of flame."

"So does that mean you are off the hook?" asked Draco as he sat up.

"No! I mean, I still possess the strength and ability of the Slayer. It's not a job I can just quit because the headquarters no longer exist."

"So, Snape is the only Watcher left?"

"No, there is a handful scattered across the globe, waiting for their turn to be called as the Watcher to the next Slayer. As far as we know, there is one in Southern California, in a town called Sunnydale, I think. His Slayer is the one whom I am succeeding, and he has heard of another, one who has left the Council, in Los Angeles."

"Hey, this is kind of cool." Everyone turned and stared at Harry as he spoke up, a slow grin appearing on his face. "The last of a clandestine organisation, united against darkness. It's like in the movies."

The other two boys looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What's a 'movies'?" Draco inquired.

"Muggle stuff," she told him.

"Sounds interesting." He glanced at the grandfather clock when it struck eight. "Don't you have to go see Snape?"

_I really have to stop relying on people to remind me of my appointments_, she thought as she swore and leapt to her feet, taking off for the dungeons.

000000000

The room was quiet after her harried departure, each of his occupants busy with his own private thoughts

"We-ell," said Draco at last. "That is quite a surprise, wasn't it?"

"You could say that," The Boy-Who-Lived absently answered.

He was struck by a sudden realisation, one that hit him with all the force of a speeding Bludger. Now that the whole affair about Hermione was over, he had no reason or excuse to hang around with the Three Musketeers anymore.

He immediately felt very, very hollow at the thought, as though someone had cut him open, took out all his guts and stitched him back up. Sneaking a surreptitious glance at his pensive companions, he tried to suppress the bitterness that had engulfed him completely. At least he had had a taste of true friendship, the kind that was cemented by shared laughter and tears, anchored by unshakable loyalty and love. However brief it was, it was a memory to be treasured and cherished.

He told himself he had to content himself with that, and withdraw forthwith from their company. Wordlessly, he stood up and left for his room. _How very realistic it was_, he reflected sardonically. To bond with someone over a common cause or goal, and to release that bond without a thought once the ends had been achieved He supposed they would revert to the status quo, sniping and hurling insults at each other, separated by the prejudices of his family and the perceptions of society at large.

An unexpected burst of anger and hatred surged within him, directed at the injustice of his world, making his throat constrict painfully and his eyes burn with tears he refused to acknowledge. Growling, he flopped onto the bed and clapped a pillow over his head in an effort to escape from his misery.

000000000

That night, she trained with a much lighter heart. Telling the boys about her calling had taken a tremendous weight from her soul, and she was glad to know that they accepted it with no apprehension whatsoever. A tiny part of her mind, the corner where all her insecurities resided, had worried that they might not be so receptive of her.

"I presume your talk with Potter and Weasley went well?" Professor Snape asked as he handed her a pair of knives.

In spite of herself, she beamed at him. "Yes, quite well. They didn't react too strongly."

"You speak as if you expected them to react otherwise."

"Perhaps I did," she replied as she did a few manoeuvres with the knives, enjoying the strain in the muscles of her wrists and arms.

"If you really saw them as your friends, that notion will never have crossed your mind, would it?"

"It's not that, Professor." She paused as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "It's just...me, being the bookworm I have always been, and being the Slayer just about shatters everything related to that particular stereotype. And I suppose, I _am_ afraid, in some ways, they might reject me because of this...change, and that will leave me friendless, because I don't have any other friends besides them. The other girls are far too superficial for me, and the boys come to me only when they need help on homework."

"Stereotypes are the generalistions of the foolish, made in an effort to help themselves understand other better. You should not let others pigeonhole you into a fixed identity."

She had no reply to that, but it certainly gave her much food for thought.

* * *

Hayley: Hehe, I was kidding too. Hope you like this chapter! 

Angel-wingzz: Hey, welcome back! I'm still trying to figure out how to arrange a meeting with a vamp, so a little patience will be needed. Sorry, but I'm picky that way.

Dark Me: Yay, a new reviewer! Thanks a lot for the compliments:D


	12. Reconciliations

**A/N:** Heyhey, sorry for taking so long. My dance troupe and I have a major competition coming up, and practices are intensifying, so I have much less time to work on this. Hope you guys like this chapter :P

Chapter 11: Reconciliations

Draco looked up as his roommate all but bounced past him, skin still gleaming with perspiration "Really, Granger, must you be so buoyant? I swear you'll turn into a ball if you hop about anymore."

She halted mid-step and frowned at him. "In another pet, are we?"

He turned his back on her, scowling viciously. "Go away, Granger."

"Oh, so now it's 'Granger' again, isn't it?" She planted her hands on her hips. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you people? Ron hasn't been speaking to me lately, and he talks to Harry only when it is absolutely necessary, and you are avoiding the three of us like the plague!"

"That's none of your business," he replied rudely.

"It is if you are ignoring me."

He averted his eyes from hers as she came around to stand before him. "Is it me?" she asked softly. "Is it because I'm the Slayer now? I still am Hermione, you know, it doesn't change the way I am."

"You smell, Granger," he snapped, ruthlessly suppressing the lump that had risen in his throat "Go take a shower,"

She lowered her head, shoulders slumping. "Very well. If my presence repels you so, I shall relieve you of it."

Guilt made him reach out and catch her wrist just before she entered her room. "It's not you, Hermione. It's...something else."

"Then what is it? I swear I will help in any way I can."

He barked a short bitter laugh. "There's nothing you can do to help me."

"We won't know unless you tell me, will we?"

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. She was as close to a real friend he had ever had, but he had refrained from telling her anything too intimately tied up with himself. Keeping her at arm's length, or so to speak. He told himself it was for her own good, but he knew at the very core of his being that that was far from the truth.

He feared betrayal, and above all else, exposing his vulnerabilities. In the hands of his enemies, his secrets were very, very useful weapons for blackmail.

She waited patiently for him to decide, and was rewarded when he finally met her eyes for the first time in a week. "You never do give up, do you?"

"No," she told him blithely.

He sighed again, but this time, she could hear faint affection mingled with the resignation. "Sit down, Granger. It's not going to be easy for me, or you."

She curled up in the armchair, watching him conjure up a teapot and a dish of biscuits. She did not press him, and for that he was grateful. He needed the mundane motions to calm his mind, set his thoughts in order, before he could speak of them to her.

"In short, Granger," he said slowly, picking his words carefully, "There is no reason for me to hang out with you three anymore."

"Why ever not? Harry's asking me where you are at least thrice a day, you know."

_If only to insult me_, his mind whispered cynically even as he studiously ignored the hope that had sparked to life within him at her words. Aloud, he snorted. "Our little truce was formed to find out the reason for your nocturnal ventures. Now that the truth is out, I don't have to keep an eye on you, and therefore I do not have to speak to them anymore. End of story." He inwardly winced at the harshness of his voice, but it was better than having it tremble from the emptiness he felt in his heart.

She was quiet after that little speech of his, and for a moment, the irrational dread that she would laugh at him for his weakness filled him. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Are there nobody else in this school whom you trust?"

"Besides your Watcher? No. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"No no no, listen to me. I understand the need for your not placing trust in anyone. Your father is a prominent figure in wizarding society, after all, and an ideal person to curry favour from." Here she leant forward. "You don't need a reason to hang out with us, Draco. Harry and Ron have come to the realisation that you aren't such a pain in the arse anymore—" She smiled at his faint blush. "—and they don't mind you joining us every now and then. As long as you keep your mouth off the more sensitive topics, you really are excellent company. For me, anyway."

He searched her face for sincerity, hungering, desperate for the real ties she promised in her words. "Really? They don't mind me around?"

She reached out and covered his hand with hers, the warm weight of her palm reassuring and comforting. "They understand that you acted the way your upbringing dictated, You couldn't help it any more than we can help the sun rising every morning."

He looked down at her hand. "My father taught me from birth all the beliefs he held dear, and I was too young and gullible to know for myself. But after I came here...I began to realise his teachings were rubbish. Muggleborns are definitely not inferior to purebloods." He looked up at her, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "I can never beat you in anything. And look at Crabbe and Goyle. The combined intelligence of the two is equivalent to a fish, much to the insult of fishes everywhere."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you are smart enough to tell black from white for yourself." Glancing at the clock, she added, "Get some rest. It's getting late."

"Yes, Mother." He felt bereft the minute she relinquished her touch, and scolded himself for his silliness. "Thank...you." The words felt foreign on his tongue, but he was nevertheless glad for saying them.

Gracing him with a wide smile, she turned and headed for her room.

"And Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Do take a shower. You really stink."

0000000000

"Ron?"

A grunt.

"Ron!"

He looked up grumpily from his textbook. "What is it, Ginny?"

She perched beside him on the armchair. "Are you okay?"

"Why would I be otherwise?"

"You haven't been speaking to Hermione these days, or Harry, for that matter."

"I did speak to Harry..."

"Ah, so you admit you've been ignoring Hermione. Did you two have a row again?"

"No."

"Then?"

He blew out a breath. "It's just that..."

"Hermione has told me about the highly secretive thing."

"Yes well." He put down his quill and ran ink-splotched fingers through his hair. "It's just that...Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, and he's really powerful, Hermione's the brains and I am just...me. And now, Hermione's a hero in her own right, and I am still just plain old me."

"You are feeling inferior, you mean."

"No!" At her knowing look, he amended, "Well, maybe a little, just the tiniest bit."

"You see my point." She folded her arms. "There's no need to doubt yourself, Ron. They like you just the way you are. All superheroes need their own helpers too. And you are always there to make sure that they come out of it all alive."

"But I don't like being the normal guy."

She slipped off her seat and took the armchair opposite him. "Harry and Hermione are 'heroes' not because they want to. Their destinies have been thrust upon them and they have no choice but to take it. It is their choice, however, to fulfil their duty or be labelled as the one who neglected their responsibility. They will always get attention, true, but it is not always a good thing. Sometimes, I think standing just outside the spotlight, unseen, is better. You see so much more than anyone else. Besides, being in the spotlight, you have to watch yourself constantly. One little mistake, one misstep, and people like the reporters from Daily Prophet will be all over you, blowing it out of proportion and making you look bad. I think that's the price these people pay."

He sat back in his armchair and contemplated her monologue.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted grudgingly at last. Then he looked at her suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done with my baby sister?"

She tapped him on the tip of his nose. "It's called maturity, Ron. Just because you never grow up doesn't mean the rest of us are subject to that principle."

"I'm not—"

"Oh yes you are," she cut him off, going for the jugular. "Popularity's not everything, You three have gone through too much to allow personal feelings to get in the way. I know it's inevitable to feel jealous of the attention and recognition Harry and Hermione get, but you are gifted in your own way. You are the one who anchors the, reminds them of who they are underneath the identities they are forced to assume. You are not just 'the other one'."

He exhaled loudly and sat back in the armchair, and she knew she had got through to him, made him see the things he had been refusing to allow himself to admit.

"Have an early night, brother dear. Dark eye-circles don't look at all attractive on you." She patted his head, and he swatted her hand away irritably.

"I'm not a dog, Ginny."

Being his sister, she had the audacity to grin at him. "Go apologise to them first thing tomorrow morning, all right? I'll expect to see you three as chatty as ever at the breakfast table, or you'll get it from me."

He gave a non-committal grunt and reapplied himself to his homework.

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_Jealousy, thy name is Ronald_, he thought ironically to himself as he climbed the steps to the tower where Hermione lived.

More than once, he had allowed his envy to come between him and his friends. More than once they had forgiven him, and yet he had never felt grateful for their tolerance.

He supposed it was partly due to his habit of pushing away stray thoughts that felt too big for him to comprehend. It had become a subconscious reaction, and only Ginny had the guts to inform him about it.

_Just because you never grow up doesn't mean the rest of us are subject to that principle._ Her tart words had haunted him in his uneasy dreams, and he had woken up with the clarity that he had a great deal of making up to do.

Before his fist could make contact with the wood, the door swung open to the sight of Hermione and Harry hunched over a piece of parchment. "Hello Ron, we were expecting you." Harry tapped the surface of the parchment, and he recognised it as the Marauders' Map.

"I—"

"Good thing it's a weekend, isn't it?" Hermione cut in smoothly. "We can put in a bit of time to study for Monday's Transfiguration test."

"But what—" He was cut off once more by Harry's groan. "Guys!"

They broke off glaring at each other to look at him. "Aren't you angry at me? For...for not talking to you, and ignoring you, and...and—"

"Generally acting like a prat?" supplied Hermione helpfully.

"That, too," he admitted, feeling completely flummoxed by the way they were acting.

She fluttered her hand at him airily. "We're used to it. I was just wondering when you'd come around."

He blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair at her wicked grin. "Ah, well then, I'm sorry." There, he had done it.

Harry cocked his head and regarded him solemnly. "D'you think we should accept that, Hermione?"

His skin crawled at the look that passed between them. _Any time now_, he thought warily, bracing himself

At any rate, he was completely unprepared when both of them spun and pounced onto him. "Oi! What are you—"

"You didn't think we'd let you get off so easily, did you?"

Realisation dawned on him. "Oh no," he protested. "Anything but that."

"Definitely _that._" Hermione turned to Harry. "Shall we, Mr Potter?"

"Ladies first," he replied chivalrously.

000000000

Draco exited his bathroom in a puff of steam, towelling his hair dry. Just as he reached for his hairbrush, a loud yelp froze him in his tracks. Racing to the door, he flung it open, only to be brought up short by the sight of the Golden Trio on the floor.

Hermione sat on Weasley's legs, while Harry was perched on him, tickling him mercilessly in the ribs. At the sound of his opening door, she looked up and smiled breathlessly at him, cheeks flushed. "We are serving Ron his just desserts."

At her words, all motion ceased and all eyes turned to him, making he wish he had a hole to hide himself in.

"Hello, ferret," Harry said at last, the grin on his face taking away any sting from his greeting. "Long time no see. How have you—ahhhh!"

Ron had taken advantage of the lapse in attention to free himself, sending his two tormentors tumbling in a very undignified way across the room. Draco couldn't help cracking a smile as he watched the two of them chase him round the room.

The redhead dodged through Hermione's partially open door and slammed it shut. "Oi!" hollered the owner in annoyance. "Alohomora!"

She stalked into the room with both Draco and Harry looking on expectantly. She soon reappeared with one very red-faced male trailing behind her. "I just saw enough female knickers to last me for the rest of my life," he murmured faintly. "Of all the times she had to forget to close her underwear drawer..."

"Watch it, Ron," drawled the Slytherin. "I wouldn't offend a _Slay-er_ if I were you."

He smirked as the girl in question glowered at him in mock anger. "Oh dear, have I struck a raw nerve there? Do accept my humblest apologies." He bowed deeply, struggling to rein in his laughter.

Huffing loudly, as he knew she would, she turned to the other two boys with a petulant expression, causing them to collapse against each other in their mirth.

The innocence of the moment touched his heart, and for once, life felt good.

* * *

Fanfiction Dreamer: Whee! A new reviewer! (claps hands ecstatically) 

Princess JB: Relax, dear, Buffy died at the end of Season Six, didn't she? And if memory serves me, every time a Slayer dies, a new one will be called to take her place, irregardless of the fact if the previous Slayer is resurrected or not (though I don't think any Slayer has ever been as hard to kill as Buffy) So, Buffy is not dead. And I'm not bringing the Ones and all that final battle stuff in as of now. :)

pip: Yesh, you naughty naughty hobbit. Pity that poor doctor of yours :P

cutekitty: Woohoo! Another new reviewer! Thanks!

Angel-wingzz: Oh yeah, silly me. Thanks for reminding me of the graveyards thing. Am working on it. Watch this space:D

Dark Me: Thanks! Hope you like this chapter too!

Hayley: Oooh yes, I do hit people. Haven't you heard of a Chinese saying which claims that hitting someone is to express affection, and to scold someone is an expression of your love? (cackles wickedly)


	13. Anticipation

A/N: Hey, sorry I took so long! Had a truckload of real life demanding my attention, which then also killed my inspiration :( Hope this chapter isn't compromised in any way.

Chapter 12: Anticipation

"My sources tell me that the Mudblood, Granger has been visiting your dungeons nightly for about ten weeks now, Severus. Explain."

He kept his head down, his blood running cold in his veins. "The girl has expressed an interest in the Dark Arts to me, my lord. I have taken her under my wing and gained some measure of her trust. As of now, I am waiting for an opportunity to turn her to our side." He paused as a ripple went through the circle of dark-garbed people around them, and waited for the mumbling to subside before continuing. "I thought she would make an excellent addition to our ranks, my lord, in spite of her heritage. Her friendship with Potter will, I believe, prove invaluable to us." He stopped again, injecting a note of regret into his voice. "I should have known my lord will find out sooner or later. I had meant for her induction to be a surprise for you."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed a harsh sibilant rasp that would have made him wince, had he not mastered the reaction long ago. He had learnt years before that something as small as shifting your weight from one foot to the other would earn one a few bouts of Cruciatus and a thorough thrashing from his fellow Death Eaters. "Not for nothing are you in my inner circle, boy. Strike at the first opening, do not allow her any room for doubt, you understand?"

He inclined his head in acquiescence. "My lord is always wise."

At the lazy wave of dismissal, he kissed the hem of his erstwhile master's robes and backed into his customary position within the circle, fighting the urge to spit on the ground.

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"Severus!" He closed his eyes in a silent groan at the merry call and turned, carefully schooling his expression into one of polite curiosity.

Lucius Malfoy strode towards him, the other Death Eaters milling about in the hall parting easily to make way for him. "Leaving so soon?"

"I must return to Hogwarts before the old fool misses me, Lucius, or I will lose my position, sneaking out on a school night."

"No, no, wouldn't want that, would we?" The blonde man slapped him heartily on the back. "I was just curious, back at the meeting, you _did_ say that you have Potter's mudblood taking lessons from you on the sly?" When Snape nodded in affirmation, he leant in closer. "I wonder..."

He let his lip curl in apparent revulsion. "I do not associate with Gryffindors in the bedroom, Lucius. And besides, I am her teacher, and expected to protect her innocence, not take it. One word of this reaches the Headmaster and I will be out of the wretched school faster than you say 'Muggleborn'."

"True," he admitted, a devious smile creeping across his face. "But...speaking from experience, virgins, especially, form an emotional attachment to their'first', as the Muggles so aptly put it."

"Seduction is not the only way to gain a girl's trust."

"No, but it is one of, if not the, most effective ways, don't you think?" He glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the hall. "Dear me, I think you really ought to go now. Say hello to the girl for me, will you?"

He mustered a sneer to mask the disgust roiling within him and took his cloak from a trembling house-elf, Apparating from the Malfoy Manor to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Looking up, he easily located Dumbledore's window, lighted from within. An eternal beacon in the darkness that shrouded him perpetually.

Feeling the faintest lightening in his heart, he crossed the grounds and slipped in noiselessly through the castle doors, heading for his employer's office.

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Her heightened senses detected the faint footfalls and before she knew it, she had spun and launched a throwing knife at the opening door.

With lightning-fast reflexes, her Watcher dodged the projectile. It sailed into the wooden doorframe, right where his neck had been a mere second ago. "I would have complimented you on your skill, girl, if your knife hadn't been aimed at me."

She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. Damn! She had nearly killed her Watcher! "Oh Gods! I...I'm so sorry, Professor! I—"

"That would be quite enough," he snapped, closing the door behind him. "I have no desire to aggravate the headache I'm having."

She was ready to apologise further when she noticed the long black cloak slung over one arm. Oh. _Oh_. That would explain the decrease in his already-low tolerance. Instead, she tried a tentative query. "Are...you all right?"

He followed her line of sight to the garment he had tossed over a chair, his mouth quirking into a bitter mockery of a smile. "My well-being is of no consequence to this war whatsoever, but thank you for your concern, Miss Granger."

"Was...was it bad?"

_Oh yes, just wonderful. The Dark Lord has spies in this school._ But he feigned indifference. "It was...tolerable." At her disbelieving look, he elaborated, "Not as bad as it could have been."

She tilted her head at him, noting the fatigue in the lines around his eyes and mouth. "I'm glad you're back."

The raw honesty in her statement caught him somewhat off guard. Sliding a mask over his surprise, as he was so often used to doing, he returned gruffly, "Finish your exercises and lock up the room. I am too tired to oversee your training for tonight."

"Good night, sir."

He nodded tersely and exited the room, feeling her eyes on his back as well as a lingering sense of unease.

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"Why the glum face?" Draco asked as she settled into a chair opposite him at the large table in their common room.

"You would be glum too if you nearly eviscerated your Watcher with a throwing knife."

He stared at her, his jaw threatening to come unhinged. "You threw something at Professor Snape? Are you insane?"

She flicked an irritated glance his way as she flipped her Ancient Runes textbook open. "I didn't mean to, all right? When I got to the training room, he wasn't there, so I decided to have a go with those knives...and when he came in, I thought he was an intruder and so..." She trailed off, shrugging in chagrin as his shoulders shook in silent mirth. "It's not funny!" she said stridently. "I could have _killed_ him!"

"But he is still alive and kicking, Hermione, so stop agonising over your humiliation." He turned the last of his laughter into a coughing fit, but could not resist taking a last dig at her. "Besides, Slayers are known for their 'hit first, talk later' approach. I'm sure Dumbledore won't blame you."

At her murderous look, he held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Fine, fine, I'll stop."

"You'd better," she muttered into her Runes translation. "Or you will find yourself hexed six ways to Sunday one of these days."

At that juncture, the door opened, and in trampled Harry and Ron, loaded with their textbooks.

"Well, well, isn't this cosy. Mind if we join?" inquired Ron cheerfully.

Shooting them a half-exasperated, half-affectionate look, Hermione moved her things to make space for them. "If you three are going to gab about Quidditch and things irrelevant to homework, I shall see to it that you land outside the portrait entrance in utmost indignity."

"Yes, Your Royal Bossiness," Harry returned with a sarcastic bow, drawing chuckles from the others present.

They fell into a pattern after that, the boys coming up to study with the Head Boy and Girl every night until fatigue drove them into bed, and Draco came to look forward to that time every day, treasuring the easy, informal atmosphere that left him free to act as he saw fit, never failing to warm his heart.

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Dumbledore stood at his window, admiring the sheen of moonlight on the sprawling lawns of the school grounds. A few metres away, Fawkes the phoenix sat placidly on his perch, pecking at a dish of herbs set before him.

Sensing his master's state of mind, he looked up and gave a soft comforting trill. He was troubled, as he always was these days.

The wizard turned and bestowed a half-hearted smile at his familiar. "Thank you, my fine friend, but you cannot help me with this, as much as I wish you could."

The bird tilted his head, regarding him with his beady gaze, as though he was trying to prove his master wrong.

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Hermione closed her diary, looking at the position of the sickle moon in the night sky. In two days, it would become the dark of the moon.

She shivered involuntarily at that thought, remembering that it was the best time to perform malevolent magic. And ironically, it was also her birthday.

Here, she half-smiled, thinking of birthdays past. Ron would probably give her some sort of sweets that her parents would stridently disapprove of, and Harry just might find some useful book with Ginny's help. And Snape?

She gave an un-ladylike snort, earning her a glare of consternation from the feline grooming himself in a chair. The devil would be ice-skating if Snape started handing out presents.

All the same, she mused, it would be nice, as always. Her friends will fuss over her for the whole day, making up for the absence of her parents. Becoming a legal adult was an added plus point, too.

Hearing the gravelly chime of the grandfather's clock herald the time, she sighed softly and placed her diary in a drawer, locking it up with a key on a chain around her neck. Running her hand over her familiar's fur, she went to prepare for bed.

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**A/N**: I know this is a little short, but I'm having another case of writer's block :S I think the next chapter will be somewhat more meaty, if not longer. After all, quantity is not a guarantee of quality, is it? Also, the next chapter may be my last in a long time. Gotta take time off to concentrate on my studies (pfffbt) I'll see you all in the next chapter. Ciao! 

Hayley: Hehe, glad that old adage made you laugh: ) Hope you like this chapter too!

cutekitty: Thanks! Sorry I took so long to update.

FanfictionDreamer: Thanks! Hope this chappie is to your liking!

Angel-wingzz: Ron or Draco? Draco or Ron? You'll just have to read on, darling! And about the slaying, I think it'll make an appearance in the next few chapters :)


	14. Prelude

**A/N:** Hello, hope this chapter didn't take too long, cos I'm in the middle of me exams now, and I just had to write : ) Here's the meatier (I think) content, as promised.

Chapter 13: Prelude

An insistent hammering prodded her rudely from a dream. She couldn't remember what it was, just that it had felt good.

Groaning, she stumbled out of bed and went to open the door. "What the—arrgghh! For goodness's sake, Ron, _don't_ hug me like that!"

"Sorry," said the redhead, not looking in the least contrite, lowering her to the floor.

"Good heavens, Hermione, you look a right mess!"

"Thank you ever so much," she groused at the speaker. "Dissing the birthday girl is just the thing to get her in the mood on her special day, isn't it?"

"He didn't mean it, Hermione," Harry cut in hastily before they could launch into an all-out row. "Can we come in?"

"Can I say no?" she countered grumpily as she stood aside to allow her well-wishers entrance. "Wait here while I get changed."

She, grabbed a jumper and jeans, disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door, checking her appearance in the mirror. Draco was right. She _was_ a mess. Hair a virtual bird's nest, pyjamas rumpled, eyes still blurred by sleep.

Sighing, she washed up and changed, tossing the nightwear into the hamper by the door before unlocking the door.

Taking one step out, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her room had been completely transformed beyond recognition. Multi-coloured crepe paper hung from the ceiling, decorated her furniture. The words "Happy Birthday to Hermione" were hung around the perimeter of her bed's canopy in glittering purple letters, and motifs of festive things covering the previously plain wallpaper.

Crookshanks stalked over to her, looking very cross at the floppy red ribbon they had tied around his neck.

"Close your mouth, Hermione," advised Ginny. "You might swallow a fly accidentally."

"But—what...the—" She floundered around for words and finally managed to string a coherent sentence together. "You don't have to do that."

"Ah," Harry intoned, raising a finger. "As you can see, it's not a matter of having to, but a matter of wanting to, in the name of pleasing a—" He was cut off rather rudely by a pillow to the head."

"Do shut up, Harry, before you bore us all back to sleep with your sermon," drawled the boy beside him, a party hat with squiggly green and silver stripes perched in a jaunty angle on his blonde hair.

He shot him an offended look before turning to give the bemused girl his most winsome smile. "The point is, Hermione, this is your last birthday in Hogwarts and we want to make it an extra special one."

Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids. His innocent declaration had brought many things to the forefront, things she had purposely pushed to the back of her mind.

Chiding herself silently, she shoved them back ruthlessly into the corner of her mind where they belonged. They meant well, after all, and she did not want to be a killjoy by weeping before them.

"Thank you," she finally croaked, flinging her arms around his neck.

He returned her hug firmly. "Don't turn into a dishrag on us now," he teased. "We do have such fun in store for our resident know-it-all."

Chuckling damply, she released him. "Hey," protested Ron. "Don't I get one too?"

"Prat." Ginny fished a hanky out of her pocket and handed it to her. "You are just jealous Harry got an armful of Slayer and you don't."

"Am—" He found himself pulled into a huge bear hug with his sister. "No fair, Harry gets you all to himself and I have to share you with Ginny?"

"Shut up, you." She gave him a friendly punch on his shoulder and halted before Draco.

Both parties stared at each other until he cleared his throat awkwardly and held out his hand. "Happy Birthday."

She grasped his hand and yanked him into an embrace. "You don't have to hold yourself back around us, you know," she told him.

He stood stiffly for a moment before tentatively placing his hands on her back.

Harry hooted gleefully. "Anyone got a camera? We should take a picture of this and send it to Dumbledore. The fellow has been going on about inter-house harmony for an eternity now."

He scowled at the dark-haired boy, trying to get accustomed to the feel of holding someone with nothing but platonic feelings. But she pulled away too soon, leaving him with yet another feeling of bereftment at the loss of contact.

Shaking himself firmly, he joined in the slightly off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday", basking in the radiance of his friend's smile.

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Dark of the moon it was, but it was also a Saturday and a Hogsmeade weekend, and it made for a rousing birthday celebration at the Three Broomsticks with what seemed like half the Gryffindor house. She was kind of sorry Draco couldn't be there, but he had his facade to uphold, and had expressed his regrets at having to absent himself from the festivities.

Drinks were on the house, and everyone was going through Butterbeers like there was no tomorrow. She had lost count somewhere after the sixth toast, and yet another was going round right at that moment. Wriggling her way through the crowd packed into the tiny establishment, she found Harry and Ron sitting at a table with Fred and George. "When did you two appear?"

The twin on Ron's left grinned. "Had to come. It isn't polite if we were to skip the birthday bash of one of Hogwarts' finest, is it?"

"And besides," added the other twin. "Ron would have dragged us bodily from our shop if we didn't attend."

She blushed at the implication of his comment, trying to tell the identical idiots apart, and as usual, failing miserably. "All right. Which one of you is who?"

"Fred," Ron interjected, nudging the corresponding twin in the ribs. "George." He jerked his thumb at the twin, and promptly received perfectly synchronised slaps on the back of his head.

"Git," growled George. "You always spoil all the fun."

"Can't bear to see your precious Hermione suffer, can you?" jibed Fred.

"Shut up," snapped Ron, whose ears were rapidly turning a horrible shade of pink which clashed violently with his hair. "Do something," he pleaded Harry, who shook his head and grinned.

Before the moment could degenerate any further, Madam Rosmerta's voice rose over the babble of voices. "Hermione Granger!"

Muttering under her breath, she made her way towards the bar, the people before her making way readily. "Yes?"

The older woman held out an envelope. "This came for you on the Floo."

With a little amount of trepidation, she broke the seal and drew out the piece of parchment.

_Miss Granger, _

_Please come to my office immediately. _

_Professor Dumbledore_

_Oh dear_, she thought, stuffing the parchment into her jeans pocket. _What now?_

She was halfway down the path back to Hogwarts when Harry and Ron finally caught up with her. "Merlin, Hermione, every step you take is at least three for us," wheezed Ron.

"Sorry," she answered, slowing down to accommodate their gaits. "A note came for me from the Headmaster. I had to rush. Oh dear...the party..."

"Don't worry about that," Harry assured her. "I told them to carry on, not that they need any prompting."

She nodded tersely in gratitude, and continued walking

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Uttering the password, she stepped onto the revolving steps, trying to curb her impatience as she waited for it to reach the Headmaster's office door.

Professors McGonagall and Snape were both present, seated on either side of Dumbledore, their eyes turning on her upon her entrance.

The Headmaster beckoned her to the lone armchair set before his claw-footed desk, and she took her seat with growing disquiet, noting the ever-present twinkle was absent for once from his eyes. The boys perched on either armrest of her chair, and she felt obscurely comforted by their quiet, solid presences surrounding her.

"This came for you by owl just now, Miss Granger." The ancient wizard handed her a large envelope.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of the Ministry stamp on the wax seal, her heart starting to hammer painfully against her ribs.

With shaking hands, she broke the seal, withdrew the letter and read.

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Harry watched in growing disconcertment as the piece of parchment fell from nerveless fingers, knowing in his heart what sort of message the short missive bore. Letters from the Ministry addressed specifically to students during these times, particularly Muggleborn ones, meant only one thing.

"Hermione?" he muttered softly, touching the hand that lay in a clenched fist in her lap as she sat staring straight ahead, unseeing, unmoving.

"They are dead, then," she intoned in a voice that was completely unlike hers.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Yes."

She inclined her head, the same blank expression on her face. "Very well, then. Good afternoon, Professors."

Without a backward look or acknowledgement of his and Ron's presence, she left. Concerned, they leapt off their perches and made to follow her, but a hand on each of their shoulders stopped them.

"Let her be," advised their Head of House. "She will need some time alone."

Harry looked at her, and inwardly winced at the drawn and pinched quality of her face. It mustn't have been easy, he thought. To see the lives of so many students torn apart with the arrival of an impersonal notification.

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"Is Hermione in?" Ron inquired of Draco after dinner that day.

""She's been locked in her room since noon." He surveyed them with an air of suspicion. "Did you have a tiff or something?"

He was on the verge of giving a heated retort when Harry cut in, "Hermione just got the news from the Ministry at noon. Her parents are...gone."

The other boy's eyes widened. "You are joking, aren't you?" he asked shakily as he involuntarily took a step back.

"No joke," said Ron harshly as he pushed past the stunned boy. "We were there when Dumbledore gave herthe letter."

"It's not fair," Draco whispered half to himself. "On today, of all days..."

"Yeah, we know," agreed Harry tiredly. "And we don't know who did it. Yet." Crossing the room, he knocked gently on his friend's door, "Hermione? It's us. We brought you dinner."

The door opened on its own accord. "Leave it on the desk. I'll eat it later."

From where Draco stood, he could see her seated by the window panes, and he felt his heart twisting in his chest at her cold, emotionless tone. What happened next worried him more.

"Hermione?" murmured Ron hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

"Go away. I don't want your pity."

"But—"

"Go away."

Looking as helpless as he felt, the two turned away and exited the tower, dejection in the line of their slumped shoulders and bowed heads.

Just before the door could shut completely, Draco jammed his foot against it, halting its progress. "Hermione?"

"I'm in no mood for company."

He swallowed hard. "I just want you to know...if you need a ear, I'll be around, okay?"

"Thank you."

The note of dismissal in her curt answer was unmistakable, so he removed his foot and watched as the door slammed shut inched from his nose.

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A/N: I'm sorry, I know you guys are gonna kill me for this, but I deem this cruel act necessary for what I'm planning in the future. Please don't be mad at me!

Natsuyori: Yippee, another new reviewer. Thanks! Hope you don't mind this chapter!

FanFiction Dreamer: Thanks! I know you won't flame me to death cause of this chappie...right?


	15. Realisations

**A/N:** Alright-o, here's the last chapter I'm going to be churning out in a long while. I'm putting this fic on hold for the time being, until around mid- to late-November when my O Levels are over. I won't be completely on hiatus though. There may be an occasional poem or vignette if inspiration chooses to strike. Until then, adios for now :)

Chapter 14: Realisations

"Mr Malfoy informs me that you have neither been sleeping nor eating for two days now, Miss Granger."

"Did he, now?"

He leant against the doorframe, backlit against the light from the common room. "Tell me, what do you seek to achieve by sequestering yourself away in your room?"

"I merely wish to be alone."

"And wallow in your self-pity? How typical of Gryffindors."

She glanced at him dully, and saw that he was still dressed in his Death Eater garb. "So, was it them?"

"Yes."

"And the Headmaster has no knowledge of this."

"I will notify him shortly, but I thought you have the right to learn of the facts first."

She remained silent, and he realised she was not going to prompt him. "Three days before you birthday, the Dark Lord somehow learned of the fact that we have been meeting outside curriculum time on a daily basis. I explained to him that you had taken an interest in the Dark Arts and came to me, so I took you under my tutelage. He has ordered me to gain your trust and introduce you into the Inner Circle."

"He thinks I'll be instrumental in bringing Harry to him."

He inclined his head at her flat statement.

"And my parents?"

"He hopes to leave you emotionally vulnerable so as to aid me in carrying on in my task of turning you to his side. I was excluded in the summons as he thought it may seem suspicious if I were to be absent from school at the approximate time your parents met their end."

"I see."

He tried to gauge her reaction, but with her face half- hidden in darkness, there wasn't much he could detect. And the little he could see worried him. "The world does not revolve around you alone, Miss Granger," he said sharply. "We are here to play a part, in some hope that it may change the outcome a little bit. If you are going to turn into a dishrag, do so and get it out of your system." Withdrawing a package from his robes, he placed it on her desk. "Take this as a late birthday gift if you are so inclined to. I shall be very disappointed if you do not turn up at dinner. Training resumes tonight."

Spinning on his heel, he closed the door behind him, leaving her in darkness.

Draco Malfoy stood up from the couch. "Sir? Is she okay?" he asked anxiously

He spared a glance over his shoulder at the closed door. "She will be. Good day, Draco."

He prayed his bluff will work.

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Draco leapt to his feet for the second time that day when the sounds of a door opening reached his ears.

Hermione emerged from her room, looking none the worse for her self-imposed isolation. Her hair was tucked into a neat braid, her uniform had nary a wrinkle, and her eyes were bright.

In short, she looked like the Hermione he knew.

A surge of relief suffused his entire being. "It's almost dinnertime. Are you hungry?"

"A little." She smiled gently at him. "I'm sorry if I scared you three. I was just overwhelmed, that's all."

"Okay." He blew his breath out, trying to get the nerve to ask. "Are you alright?"

"Not quite. But I will be."

He nodded. "Well, that's good, I think."

They both looked up at the sound of the dinner bell. "Let's go. I want to see Harry and Ron."

He felt a brief flash of something he couldn't quite identify at her words, and she must have seen it, for she gave his hand a squeeze as they descended the steps from the tower. "Thanks...for caring."

To his great humiliation, he felt his cheeks grow hot, and he knew he was blushing. "Welcome," he managed gruffly at her knowing smile. "I...I have to go now."

And with that, he took off as fast as he could, trying desperately to conceal his face, which he reckoned was nearly the same shade as Ron's hair already.

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It took him a few days to realise it: she was not the same girl he knew anymore.

On the surface, she appeared unchanged, joking and laughing with her friends as usual. But on closer inspection, that illusion was shattered. The changes were subtle, and he would have missed them if not for the training ingrained in him to notice even the smallest details.

The light in her eyes was keen and sharp, not at all the soft sparkle of intelligence that usually filled them; it reminded him of a wizarding picture of a jaguar stalking its prey She held herself differently, her posture more confident. Her gait was deliberately slow and measured, like a hunter who knew he had all the time in the world and his prey did not.

The new intensity about her both scared and enthralled him, seeing the metamorphosis his friend had undergone. Gone was the bookish schoolgirl they all knew. This was a warrior looking for revenge.

Oh boy, the jerks who did her parents in were really in for it this time.

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"Is it just me this time, or has Hermione...changed somehow?" Harry whispered at a study session four days after the girl in question had emerged from her room. She was, at the present, still at her nightly training sessions. They all noticed that she had taken to staying down at the dungeons out late these days.

Draco looked up from his Charms essay, eyebrows raised. "You saw?"

"Have you? When?"

"Just yesterday night."

Meanwhile, Ron had been looking between the two of them, the bewildered expression on his face growing with every word of their stilted conversation.

They ignored him. "Rather reminds you of a dangerous animal, doesn't she?"

"Quite." Draco smiled. "I thought you'd never realise."

"What in the name of Merlin are you two talking about?" demanded a thoroughly mystified Ron loudly.

"Just because you are too thick to see certain things doesn't mean the rest of the wizarding population is just as myopic too, Ron," drawled Draco

He made a rude noise through his nose as he pulled his Potions textbook. "Since there are people like you around who think they are so observant, surely I can rely on them to keep me up-to-date, can't I?"

"You think so?"

"I know so."

"Well then, you are mistaken."

"Stop it, you two," ordered Harry, grinning. "Just because you don't have Hermione to nag at you these days doesn't mean you can have a go at our dear Slytherin here." He turned to Draco, the smile disappearing. "She's on the warpath now, isn't she?"

"It would be logical to assume so," he agreed thoughtfully. "I found her in her room throwing knives at a target board, and the look in her eyes..." He shuddered involuntarily. "It was...I don't know, all intense and predatory and...fierce. She was never like that before this, not even when she began training with Snape."

"You can't blame her." Both boys looked at Ron, who was looking unusually pensive. "Becoming the Slayer...it has somehow unleashed something in her, don't you see? A sort of a vicious persona. A fighter's spirit, if you will. And her parents dying, I think it allowed that part of her closer to the surface than it ever was." He paused, and then noticed the openmouthed stare Draco was giving him. "What?"

"Good grief, Weasley, I never knew you could ever be that perceptive." He raised his hands and eyes upwards, in a parody of gratitude. "Ye Gods."

Ron tossed his quill at him, which didn't really work, since the feather flopped onto the table midway. "Oaf," he growled half-seriously.

"Not at all," came the lofty reply. "We of the noble and ancient house of Malfoy are never oafs—"

Harry handed him a cushion he had Summoned from the couch, and they both cut the lecture off with a thorough battering.

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Hermione tried to keep up with her Watcher as the large basket he had handed her swung from her arm. "Professor, what are we looking for, really?"

"Black nightshade."

She frowned, dredging facts about the herb from the depths of her memory. "That's a poisonous plant sir!"

"Not with the correct handling," he answered with a bite of impatience in his voice.

She looked to the line of trees they seemed to be heading for. "And there's black nightshade in the Forbidden Forest?"

"That has to be the most brilliant of deductions you have ever made in your career so far, Miss Granger. Do I have to award any points to Gryffindor?"

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he wouldn't see it in the darkness. His barbs at Gryffindor were getting tiresome, and—if one may be so bold—childish. "Not at all, Professor. I just might die of shock."

"Impetuousness gets you nowhere, Miss Granger."

She chose to ignore that. "What about the centaurs? Won't they harm us?"

"Dumbledore has placated them, you needn't worry your overachieving brain about that."

"There are some who think overachieving is a good thing, you know."

"That would be a matter of opinion, I believe."

"Precisely so. Therefore, if that was supposed to be an insult, I'm quite sorry to say I did not see it as such."

"Do be a little louder, Miss Granger. I'm sure not all the occupants of the castle have been awakened by your incessant chatter yet."

She bit her lip to keep the outcoming retort in. Honestly. That man was completely infuriating. Just as she was beginning to have a proper conversation with him, he had to go kill the mood with a well-placed verbal spear or two. She didn't deign to speak after that.

They stopped a couple paces away from the line of trees. "Take your wand out," he ordered. "There are many creatures residing here which may wish us harm."

_Vampire bats perhaps?_ a voice muttered in her head sardonically. Mentally giggling at the jibe at her present company, she withdrew her wand, making sure that the basket was positioned so that it would not get in her way when she needed to cast a spell in a hurry.

The skin on the back of her neck prickled as she crossed the threshold of the forest. The trees seemed to whisper of things she couldn't hear, emanating a sense of danger and malevolence.

"Keep an eye out." Snape's quiet reminder made her jump. "Two eyes, in fact. One can never be too careful."

Resisting the urge to tell him how much he sounded like Mad-Eye Moody, she simply nodded and continued walking, eyes straining to see the forest floor in the faint light from their wands.

The air under the trees was close and warm, and soon, sweat beaded her brow and trickled down her back. She wondered how Snape could stand the heat in his layers of clothing.

"Wait," he said suddenly, halting before a tree with thick knobbly roots. She stopped and watched him kneel down, bringing his wand down to the little plants that grew between the roots.

It was, by far, the ugliest plant she had seen. Dull green leaves on skinny stalks, heavy with little bunches of white flowers. Withdrawing a knife from his robes, Snape began cutting. "Hand me the basket."

Setting down the basket beside him, she held her wand aloft, lending him slightly better light to see with. Neither spoke, attention focused on the little clump of nightshade.

The crack of a branch was all the warning they had.

Two snarling things launched themselves at them, knocking them over. Hermione screamed as her head hit the tree trunk, and for a moment, she saw stars.

Before she could do anything, the thing was yanked off her, and Snape pulled her to her feet. "Vampires," he said calmly.

Following his line of sight, she saw not just two, but four humanoid beings climbing to their feet, growling angrily. Even from where she stood, the stink of decaying flesh was palpable. "You don't happen to have a stake with you, do you, sir?"

"No. But you forget, we are in a forest."

"Ah yes, how silly of me."

The vampires circled them warily, slavering. Snape spoke without taking his eyes off them, "I didn't mean to let you go into the practical so soon, but it appears that the decision has been taken out of my hands."

"That's all right." Training her wand at one of the creatures, she whispered a few well-chosen words, and it—that was no way she could think of it as a 'he'—went up spectacularly in a pillar of flames. Snape took care of another in the same way.

The remaining two charged at them, and both tucked away their wands, as it was damn near impossible to hex a moving target and neither wanted to miss and risk setting the entire forest on fire.

A quick flick of her wrists and a pair of knife-hilts slid smoothly into her palms. Twirling them into position, she slashed at the one who came for her. In life, it had been a woman, maybe in her late forties. It was kind of hard to tell, with the ridges and fangs of its vampiric nature.

It fell back and swiped at the gash in its arm, shrieking in a voice loud enough to wake the dead—that is, if they weren't already awake. Glaring at her with glowing yellow eyes, it charged again.

A forehand strike, a lightning-fast spin behind the adversary, and another backhand cut, like she had been taught, and the vampire exploded into dust.

"I thought decapitation involved the complete severing of the head from the neck?"

"I see even a fight fails to distract your monstrous intellect, Miss Granger." She made a face at his customary snarkiness as he came over to where she stood, looking down at the scattered brick-red dust that was her opponent. "As long as the spinal cord is separated from the rest of the body, it qualifies as legitimate decapitation."

"I see." Picking the blades of her knives off on a leaf from the ground, she tucked them into her pocket.

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She entered to the tune of three roughhousing boys, and stopped, amused at the sight of three very rumpled boys looking up at her.

"Blimey, Hermione, did a Hippogriff trample all over you or what?"

"I wonder what made you think so," she told Ron, massaging the sore spot on the back of her head where had hit the tree trunk. "Professor Snape and I encountered four vampires in the Forbidden Forest. We hexed two and got rid of the others the old-fashioned way."

"Wicked! Was it fun?"

She grinned. "Quite. It was interesting seeing how it disintegrated into dust after I decapitated it." Taking out the knives, she pushed back her sleeves and replaced them in the harnesses strapped to her forearms.

"Where did you get those?" Harry leaned forward to get a better look.

"Professor Snape. He said I could consider it a birthday gift of sorts." She pointed to the springs. "See that? It's rigged to push the weapon up into my hand when I twist my wrist."

"Cool!"

She couldn't help but laugh at their enthusiasm. "Now if you'd excuse me, I would like to take a shower before I stink the lot of you to death."

They looked at each other the moment the door clicked shut. "Did you see that?" asked Draco. "The way her eyes looked, how she reacted when we asked her about the weapon harnesses and everything?"

"Yeah.," Harry chewed on the tip of his quill, lost in thought.

Ron just frowned at the closed door.

* * *

A/N: Well, here's the much-requested fight-with-a-vampire scene. Hope I wrote it convincingly. Do tell me what you think okay?

montaquilladecacahuate: here's the requisite scene, hope you like :)

Natsuyori: Thanks! Hope I wrote this chapter to your liking too!

FanFictionDreamer: Thank you for being so understanding!


	16. Awakenings

A/N: Hi, it's me again. Guess I kinda went back on my word and continued writing. Did anyone miss me:P

Chapter 15: Awakenings

It was dark. Complete, pitch-black darkness, the kind that left one unable to see one's own hand before his or her face.

"Focus, Miss Granger," came the command, almost hypnotic in its timbre and cadence. "Concentrate."

Sighing very quietly, she closed her eyes and gave her attention to her remaining four senses, her hearing in particular. She knew he was somewhere in the training room, but with the total absence of light and the Silencing Charm on his boots, it was near impossible to figure out his exact location.

As though reading her thoughts—he probably had—he said with considerable rancour, "Nothing is impossible if you put your heart to it, girl. You, of all people, should know that well."

She stifled an inappropriate smile at the somewhat hackneyed phrase, tracking the progress of his voice. He appeared to be circling her, though how he could see through the impenetrable gloom was quite beyond her. _Probably a visibility spell._

Shifting slightly, she balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, poised to react. Roughly gauging his position, she lunged in, sword positioned to pierce.

It sliced empty air.

"Close, girl, but not quite. You took too long to decide."

Scowling to herself, she returned to her previous position, listening intently

A barely audible hiss was the only precursory warning she received before the slightly curved blade came slicing at her. Turning the attack aside, she took one step forward and reached out upon instinct, wrapping her hand around a wrist and bringing her own weapon to bear on his neck.

"Lumos." The torches flared to life, the sudden illumination blinding her momentarily. "You can do better, Granger. Had I not attacked, you would not have been able to find me. That may cost you your life in a fight, when the adversary has no reservations about maiming or killing. In time, I expect you to be able to locate and disarm me in a matter of minutes."

"Yes sir." Blinking rapidly, she waited until the spots in her vision cleared before moving to the table where her folded robe lay.

"About the vampires we encountered in the Forbidden Forest last week, how do you think you performed?"

"Poorly, sir. I was not alert, and the vampires were evidently new and disoriented, which worked to our advantage. Moreover, none of them had any knowledge of martial arts, It was an unfair fight."

"A fight is never fair, Miss Granger. Bear that in mind." He conjured up a rag, which he ran along his sword before returning it to its leather sheath. "Explain how you concluded the vampires were newborns."

She straightened, clasping her hands together, the very picture of one possessing utmost confidence and certainty. "Their movements were uncoordinated, and they obviously were not very well acquainted with each other. In the case of a group familiar with one another, there would most likely be an orchestrated attack with a strategy and a prefixed mode of attack wherein this case, the individuals attacked as they would."

A quick sharp nod. "I assume you researched all this in the library?"

"Not all of it. Draco had some books pertaining to vampiric lore in his personal library. And I drew my own conclusions at some points"

"I see. And Mr Malfoy has no qualms about you invading his rooms?"

"None at all, sir."

"That will be all. The sword, if you please."

She relinquished it reluctantly, missing the warm comforting weight of it once he took it from her hand. It had made her feel powerful, as if she could do anything, even take on the entire legion of biased worms that had eliminated her parents.

_They will pay. I will make them pay_.

Gasping, she shook herself bodily. Where on earth had _that_ come from? Retrieving her robe, she draped it around her shoulders, fastening the clasp before making her way out.

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Ron eyed the pile of textbooks which all but hid the Head Girl's lowered head from his view with ill-concealed distaste. "You know, Hermione, I, for the life of me, can't figure out you can juggle your dual roles."

"You mean triple roles," she corrected crisply, her bobbing quill never faltering in its dance across the surface of the parchment. "Besides doing my homework, studying for the NEWTs and training, I still have to badger you into laying a finger on your books outside situations of pure necessity."

"Oi! How come it's always me? What about Harry?"

"At least he has got round to browsing through his textbooks once in a blue moon. I would say he has come a long way since first year."

Harry beamed triumphantly at his friend, exactly a split second before Hermione deflated him as one does with a pin to a balloon with her next words. "There's still plenty of room for improvement, though. But seeing that the capacity for academia in the brains of adolescent males are equivalent to a peanut, I suppose I will have to settle for that at the moment."

"You do know that you are dragging me into your smear campaign, don't you?" Draco looked askance at her.

"Blame it on your misfortune to be born male then," came the unapologetic reply.

Harry chuckled at the look of wounded pride on his face. "If I didn't know better, Hermione, I'd say you've become a bra-burning feminist."

"Still in perpetual denial, I see."

"What exactly is a...'bra-burning feminist'?" inquired Draco, his brow furrowing. To Hermione, he asked, "You incinerate your undergarments?"

She snorted in amusement. "No Draco. It's a belief modern women hold that women should have equal rights as men, we call it feminism. Some of these feminists are more, shall we say, fiercely supportive than others of the concept. Not that I'm saying it's wrong to think so, but it's just the extensity of how you go about putting your convictions into actions. And trust me, some can get aggressive." Turning, she arched a brow at Harry. "Where did you get that anyway?"

He grinned back. "Dudley left one of his magazines lying around and I happened to be at a loose end."

Quirking a wry smile, she added to Draco, "That's one of the fundamental differences between the wizarding and the Muggle world. Keep that in mind."

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She bolted from bed, eyes darting around wildly for a threat that wasn't there, hands groping for the wand she always kept by her pillow when she slept.

Nothing leapt out at her, hell-bent on ripping her throat out. No flash of saliva-coated fangs, poised to tear her into bite-sized chunks.

Instead, glowing twin orbs glared at her reproachfully from the foot of her bed, evidently unhappy at her sudden return to wakefulness. _It's just a dream_, she told herself silently as she threw off the covers and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face. _Just a bloody nightmare which had to deprive me of proper sleep._

She was on the way back to her bed when her door creaked open. "Hermione?"

She spun to find a half-awake Draco standing in the doorway in his pyjamas. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? I heard you screaming."

"I was?" She rubbed her face tiredly. "It's nothing, Draco. Go back to bed."

He nodded, looking unconvinced. "Ward your door. You are getting careless with security these days."

She snorted. "The only other person here is you, and I trust that you won't do something as heinous as murdering me in my sleep. Besides, Harry and Ron will have your hide."

A mischievous smirk twisted his lips. "How do you know I won't barge in while you are half-dressed or something?"

"Well, there's always a handy Memory Charm to take care of that," she replied dryly and shooed him out.

Returning to her bed, she sat on the edge and rubbed Crookshanks' fur, much too awake to go back to sleep. Bits and pieces of her dream came back to her, and she shuddered. She had been battling a..._thing, _she couldn't quite recall what, that part had been rather hazy, and it...Oh, she couldn't remember. Growling in frustration, she stood up and paced. That bit had been so close; she had been on the verge of recollection when it slithered out from her grasp like an eel. Why had she been battling that creature? Who was the other person fighting at her side? Definitely not Snape; the glimpse she had caught of her partner —she was pretty sure it was a 'he'—had told her it was not her Watcher. He was built differently from him, and appeared to be a handful of inches shorter than him.

_Harry, perhaps?_ She shook her head at that. Harry's hair did not have blue overtones which were visible under sunlight.

Crookshanks meowed from his position on her coverlet, standing up and striding to the head of the bed, deliberately depositing himself on her pillow. She half-smiled. The view that animals had lower intelligence quotients than humankind had never been one she supported. In her opinion, they were just as, if not more than, smart as mankind in their own way, and her familiar had just demonstrated that fact by telling her not-so-subtly to make the most of the remaining hours before she had to get up for classes.

Pulling her covers to her chin, she shut her eyes. Lulled by the purring beside her ear, she slowly sank back into sleep.

When she awoke, she remembered nothing about it.

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He hissed under his breath at the burn on his forearm and cursed the timing of the summons. Of all the times Voldemort had to call him, it had to be in the middle of dinner at the Head Table. In particular, a dinner which included lasagna. And he loved Hogwarts' lasagna. What had possessed him to join his ranks in the first place?

_Oh right_, said a wry voice in his head. _I believed it was something about power and glory._ Snorting at that self-deprecating reminder, he exchanged a meaningful glance with Dumbledore and departed in his customary robe-swishing manner.

Throwing the door to his classroom open, he stopped short. His charge had hung up a target board, and was hurling throwing knives at it with a fierce look of concentration on her young face. She turned at his abrupt entrance."Professor?"

"Not now, girl," he snapped. "I'm being Summoned."

"Oh."

She followed him into his office, watching from the doorway as he pulled out his heavy black cloak and mask from a drawer. He had taken to leaving them in his office since the Dark Lord's resurrection, so that he would not waste time rushing to his quarters to retrieve them before answering the call.

She was silent, for which he found rather disconcerting. He wasn't used to having anyone around when he got ready to face the Dark Lord. It seemed too intimate, too private a thing for him. After all, he had been alone almost all his life, and had become used to his own company, with the occasional (but usually welcome) intrusion of Albus Dumbledore. "Cat got your tongue, Miss Granger?" he asked harshly.

"You've said that to me before, sir." He turned, astounded to find a slight smile playing about her lips. "Did you expect me to run screaming out of the dungeons at the first sight of you dressed as a Death Eater?"

"Five points from Gryffindor, for sheer cheek," he shot back, secretly amused at her reaction.

She merely inclined her head. "Be careful, sir." Surmising that his cutting tongue no longer had an effect on her, he nodded shortly and laid his hand on a doorknob which had materialised at a flick of his hand. "Do go up to dinner, Miss Granger. I have no wish to find you unconscious on the floor one day."

The wind chime-like sound of her laughter followed him out the door.

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_Remind me again why we are here?_ The inner critic was back again, with enough sarcasm to drown an elephant.

He looked around at the dilapidated state of his surroundings and curled his lip in disgust. A lone rat squeaked and scurried past, and he stopped himself from blasting it into oblivion, The Dark Lord would be most displeased if he deprived Nagini of her main source of food. _He can lose a battalion of followers and not bat an eyelid, but Gods forbid if his snake is ill._

He told his shrewd critic to sod off none too politely and willed all errant thoughts from his mind. Just as he had accomplished this, a small noise reached his trained ears, and he spun on his heel, wand poised to cast.

"It's..m-me," stammered the rat-like fellow cowering behind him.

On seeing the telltale glimmer of his magickal hand, Severus lowered his wand. He did not relax, could not relax. This luxury could never be indulged in the presence of the Dark Lord.

"T-this way, please." The undersized man turned and shuffled off, and Severus followed him, hearing the constant squeaks and pattering of little rodent feet in the walls his shadows flitted over.

He winced as his feet mounted the rickety, worm-eaten steps to the second level of the gods-forsaken house, thinking the Dark Lord's inclination for dramatic effect had been a little overdone. He personally didn't mind living alone in a large house, but having rats and other kinds of vermin share that space was a little overboard. Imagine having to contend with the furry pests for the food on your plate. He suppressed a shudder as his guide halted before a battered door, and knocked, announcing in a quivery voice, "My Lord, Professor Snape has arrived."

"Show him in." The cold sibilant voice made him flinch inwardly, as he did every time he heard it.

Entering the threshold of the room, he dropped to one knee. "My Lord, you called for me?"

"Indeed. Get up, my boy, sit with me."

Resolutely ignoring the gorge that rose at the command, he stood and made his way to the empty armchair that was set beside the one Voldemort occupied, facing the gentle warmth of the fire.

Neither spoke for a while, and Severus knew better than to hurry him.

At length, the semblance of a human mouth spoke. "You must be wondering why I summoned you alone."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"How goes your progress with the girl?"

"Fairly well, my Lord. She has mastered the most of the basic Dark spells, and is inquiring much after the intricacies of our...organisation."

"Good, good." he trailed off, and coughed into a closed fist.

As much as it repulsed him, he pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to the older wizard, who waved it away. "Is my Lord unwell?"

Another dismissive wave. "You and I both know that this body disintegrates with every spell I utter, Severus. The process is speeding up, and I plan to make use of the Potter boy's body after I have bested him. It is wonderful irony, is it not, to have one's form possessed by your worst enemy?" He chuckled hoarsely. "Poetic justice, indeed."

He remained silent, partly because he had no idea how to respond to that, and partly because his insides were churning so badly with revulsion he was afraid he would throw up the minute he opened his mouth. The Dark Lord was a very, very twisted thing.

"The deterioration is speeding up faster than your initial calculations have indicated, my boy. I am hard-pressed to carry the attack on Hogwarts forward before my physical form crumbles completely."

Here, he paused, and Severus pricked his ears expectantly, hoping against hope that he might drop a hint, a remark, anything which can point the Order of the Phoenix to a specific date. It was too much to think that Voldemort would just come out and state it. He was quite the drama queen, after all, and had an abominable liking for suspense.

None of the anticipated was forthcoming, and he forced a faint twinge of disappointment down. Aloud, he said, "Perhaps there could be a potion to delay or even forestall the decay of your body, my Lord. If I may..."

A third wave, much less vigourous than the previous two. "You and I have been poring over my ancestor's journal for ages, my boy. If there is any, we would most certainly have come across it by now."

He glimpsed the opening that had inadvertently been left behind and grasped it with both hands. "If I may be so bold, my Lord, I would like to request permission to bring the journal back to my dungeons. The recipe for a possible cure may not be in those pages, but I believe some experimenting may turn up hopeful results." He waited with bated breath, praying that he would not be suspicious.

The Dark Lord chuckled raspily. "If it were anyone else, Severus, I would have killed them for suggesting it." He gestured to the aged bookshelf against the wall. "The book is yours. You may go and play with your ingredients and formulae, and we shall see what you can come up with. I trust you will not take the opportunity to poison me and usurp my place."

He rose from his seat and bowed in gratitude. "I'm honoured by the trust you place in me, my Lord."

The other wizard leant back in his armchair. "You have proven yourself enough times to earn it. Take the journal with you. If the old Muggle-loving fool asks you for your whereabouts, tell him you were out for a drink."

"As you wish, my Lord." Bowing again, he retreated from the room, tossing a glare at Nagini as the snake hissed peevishly at him.

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Dumbledore regarded the journal gravely over his half-moon spectacles, the twinkle in his eyes dimmed. "Salazar Slytherin's journal was with Tom all along?"

He nodded. "I brought it away the first chance I got. It's a pity I couldn't do that sooner without calling attention to myself, otherwise..."

"Nonsense. You did what you had to do." The Headmaster eyed the dog-eared tome for a little longer before sighing. "I think you have done an excellent job this time. It's late, and I suppose you are yearning for a rest."

Recognising a dismissal, he got up and pocketed the book. "Good night, sir."

"Sleep well, my boy."

Shuddering at Dumbledore's use of the same endearment—if it can be called that—as Voldemort did, he went off to his chambers.

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He pushed open the classroom door and froze at the sight of his Slayer with her head pillowed on her forearms at a desk. No training equipment or weapon was in sight, so he guessed that she had trained on her own and put away everything before exhaustion overtook her.

Making his way across the stained flagstone, he took the folded house robe from another desktop and covered her with it, tucking the corners in so that it would not fall off when she stirred. A corner of his mind questioned this gesture of his, but he ignored it. Dumbledore would have his hide if Wonder-Boy Potter's best friend froze to death in his classroom, he told himself.

That done, he strode to his office, shedding the cloak and mask. He was tucking them into a drawer when her sleepy voice drifted in through the open door. "Professor? Is that you?"

"No one besides me can enter my office any time I please without receiving a nasty shock from the wards, Miss Granger."

He heard her getting up and pushing the chair back, then her measured footfalls coming to the doorway. Pushing back a lock of unruly hair from her face, she looked him up and down, as though he was a specimen of some sort. "I'm glad you're all right. What did he say?"

"Nothing of immediate importance to you. He inquired after your progress with your supposed 'extracurricular lessons' and mentioned that he would be carrying the attack forward due to the accelerated deterioration his body is undergoing."

She took that in, and to his surprise, did not seem perturbed. "Well, that ties in with my theory, doesn't it?" Off his questioning look, she elaborated, "It got me thinking after Harry told Ron and me about the potion that made him a body, and hypothesised that with the amount of Dark Magic he uses, the body will decay progressively every time it serves as a conduit. I haven't found any books with anything talking about such a phenomenon, so it's basically guesswork."

"And you are backing that theory up with...?"

She chewed her bottom lip for a beat. "Well, his current physical form is a mere shadow of a normal human body, isn't it? And with it being a thing of magical creation, it would be logical to conclude that with the power needed for the hexes, curses and Unforgivables he favours sp coursing through the semblance of flesh, it would unravel the magic holding it together, a little like a Muggle electric circuit tripping when an uncommonly large amount of electricity courses through the fuse."

_Smart_, his inner critic commented, and he felt a corner of his mouth curl in an involuntary smile. This seventh-year student had summarised the same information he had painstakingly scraped together after the Dark Lord had summoned him ten days after his return to corporeal form, livid with panicked rage and ready to hex him into oblivion if he could not explain why the leathery skin was peeling away in great strips so soon after its formation.

Every single waking moment of the following week saw him immersed in stacks and stacks of dusty ancient texts, as Albus had granted him reprieve from his classes to pursue the research. He had to; it was either that or losing their only spy. What Miss Granger had rattled off from the top of her head had been the result of such gruelling study, pieced together like a puzzle from bits and drabbles culled from the aforementioned books. "An admittedly astute hypothesis, Miss Granger, and completely correct.

"Am I?" Her lips parted in a pleased grin. "I really must tell Harry. That, coupled with the mental image of You-Know-Who literally falling to pieces, will give him a good laugh. Heaven knows how much he needs one."

In spite of himself, he tilted his head and asked, "Is he unwell?"

"I suppose it would be rather disappointing for you to hear this, but he is rather hale and hearty. The pressure of his destiny just gets to him, and more than once, he had to go to the Room of Requirement just to work off the tension with a punching bag. The friendly spars I have with him help too."

"You duel with him?"

"Once in a while. I assumed it would be useful for him to pick up some tricks in case he drops his wand, and I didn't think you would be thrilled if I invited him to join us."

_Cheeky._ He fought a full-blown smile. "Be sure not to injure him too much. The Headmaster would be after my hide, seeing that I am the one who taught you all those... 'tricks'."

She looked startled, then laughed aloud. "Whatever you say, sir."

The utilitarian sound of the clock striking eleven cut through the lighthearted atmosphere between them, and he felt himself returning to his carefully maintained icy persona. "It's late, Miss Granger. Your friends may be worried."

Bowing her head in acquiescence, she turned to leave, but could not resist having the parting shot, "Why Professor, I never knew you cared."

Later, he would recall the easy banter and wonder if he had accepted the girl's presence in his routine and hence his life not just as a protege, but as a contemporary, or Gods forbid, a friend. Her clever little supposition, gathered from the skeletal facts available to her, more than qualified her for the last position, but a part of his mind shied away from attaching that particular tag to her.

His association with her had been, up till then, largely superficial, centring on training and almost nothing else. But someday, he thought as he turned down the covers and crawled into his bed, one day, perhaps he would finally come to fully accept her as an equal, and hopefully a friend.

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The boys were in the common room, as was the norm. It never failed to produce a warm bubble of happiness in her chest to see how far Draco had come from the beginning of the year, finally seeing past the ideals his father had drummed into him and following his own judgement.

At present, the Head Boy was sprawled on the carpet before the fireplace, arguing avidly with Harry over a Transfiguration essay. Ron just sat with his back propped against the coffee table, watching them with an amused expression on his face.

When she entered, both broke away to look at her. "Hermione, we've got a little problem here. Remember the class today when we had to turn hamsters into multi-coloured balls? What was the wand movement?"

"Flick and a stab."

Harry grinned at Draco. "I told—"

"Don't say it," the other boy warned, withdrawing his wand. "Or I'll have to turn _you_ into a multi-coloured ball, consequences be damned."

She had to laugh. "Stop it, you two. I'll have to deduct points from Slytherin for that, and please bear in mind that my Watcher is your Head of House."

Draco looked chagrined. "Oh, right. Pity."

She winked at him, and clapped her hands briskly. "All right, boys, it's getting late and the Head Girl needs her beauty sleep. Scat!"

Grumbling good-naturedly about her bossiness, the boys gathered up their books and headed for their respective dormitories.

Shaking her head, she banished the crumbs from their study snacks and set the furniture to rights with a wave of her wand before sweeping her gaze over the room, checking for anything out of place.

"Um, Hermione?"

She turned to see him standing behind her, in a posture which looked both odd and familiar on him. She smothered a smile, recognising it as the stance he took when he was embarrassed, shy, or otherwise feeling entirely out of his element. "Yes?"

He held out a royal blue velvet box. "I saw this in Hogsmeade the other day...and I thought it suited you. I wanted to get you something for your birthday, see, and I didn't want to get you a present that was run-of-the-mill."

She took it and looked it over. "At least the box isn't green or something," she teased him gently, trying to take the edge off his nervousness. "May I open it?"

At his vague gesture of affirmation, she took the lid off the box and caught her breath. Draco, who watched her expression as intently as one does with a new experiment, silently congratulated himself on a good guess. "Do you like it?"

"Draco," she breathed, lifting out the bracelet. "It's beautiful. Where did you buy it?"

"A little establishment tucked away between two shops."

Tiger's eye gems and diamonds glittered brilliantly as she held it up to the light. "Why tiger's eye?"

He smiled sheepishly and scuffed the floor with his toe. "The streaks of black and brown reminded me of you, in a way, and I wasn't about to get anything with rubies."

She chuckled. "Was it expensive?"

He shrugged. "Not really." Expecting her protest, he added, "I have Galleons to burn, and it's a lot more satisfying to spend it on something for a friend than buying sweets or new robes."

She placed the trinket back into the box reverently, and without warning, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. It's really lovely."

"Er...welcome."

With a smile with radiance intense enough to rival the sun, she disappeared into her room. He remained where he was for a long time, hand pressed to the spot where her lips had brushed his cheek, feeling the beginnings of a fierce heat stir to life within him.

* * *

Acknowledgements:

SUmmer: Well, since you asked so nicely, here's your chapter. Hope you like!

Lena Le2006: Weehee, another new reviewer! Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy the new chapter!

rcaqua: here you go, amigo. Thank for reviewing!

montequilladecacahuate: Thanks! Btw, cool name. Are you a fan of Aztec culture? Because I am, and I find your name reminiscient oftheir language.

FanFictionDreamer: Thank you for your support! Here's your new chapter!

P.S. Some scenes may appear redundant to the fic at the moment, but I intend to bring them into play in the larer parts. As soon as I am done with this, I will come back and re-edit everything, just to make sureno loose ends are left and everything falls nicely into place. As you see, I am quite the control freak :P But until the next chapter, ciao!


	17. Departure

**A/N**: I began this in another attempt at escapism from exam stress, and sadly, my plot bunnies ran out of juice, so this chapter was rather long in the making. I hope it's worth the wait for you all. I may not be allowed to reply to reviews in chapters now. but I'll do my best to answer by means of email, if you review, of course :)

Chapter 16: Departure

That incident kept him awake for most of that night. Although his mind shied away from the thought, he examined every scrap of memory that contained her, picking them apart and analysing the emotions enfolded in them, and they communicated to his intellect what his subconscious had already figured out: His feelings for the girl who slept in the room on the other side of his wall were beyond platonic. Hell, they were so far off the path it wasn't even visible anymore.

He sighed aloud and scrubbed his face, idly wondering which trickster deity had taken it into his or her head to make him develop feelings for someone who, to all appearances, was a sworn rival of his. Not that he resented it, mind, it was just that the consequences for this were terrifying in all its possibilities; his father would probably disown him in the blink of an eye. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as a mental image of him telling his father, "Father, I'm in love with Hermione Granger" popped into his head. Right, that would go down really well with the old man. He might even die of apoplexy on the spot, if he was fortunate.

Hearing the grandfather clock in the common room strike three in the morning, he grunted and rolled over, resolutely closing his eyes. He had a reputation to maintain, and purple eye-circles would not be at all conducive to that particular endeavour.

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Not for the first time and probably not for the last, she was awoken by insistent tapping on her windowpane. Groaning, she grabbed her wand from her bedside table and flicked it at the window, steadfastly refusing to open her eyes. Unluckily for her, the owl, apparently acting under orders that the recipient must read the missive upon delivery, flapped onto the pillow and hooted insistently until she yielded and cracked her eyes open just enough to take the letter. "Biscuits on my desk," she told the feathered messenger hoarsely and squinted in the early morning light to see the seal. Finally breaking it, she lighted the candle on her nightstand and pushed herself up to read the familiar script through sleep-blurred eyes.

When she finally managed to get the point of the written words across to her brain through the heavy fog which helpfully spoke of inadequate sleep, she grumbled under her breath, checked the clock, grunted and flopped back to bed. Slayer she may be, but sleep was still imperative.

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Too short a time later, a jet of water hit her full in the face, sending her tumbling out of bed spluttering. Finally regaining her bearings, she got to her feet and gave the clock sitting innocuously on her nightstand a glare. Flicking her wand, she stopped the alarm and stamped into the bathroom, muttering about too-smart wizards who invented clocks to wake people up in the worst way possible.

Half her invective, however, was also directed at herself, as she had obviously slept through the shrilling of the alarm and the little magical device had to resort to water. What kind of Slayer did she make if she couldn't even wake up quickly in the morning?

Leaving a note in the common room to notify Draco of her whereabouts, she climbed down the stairs and out of the tower, making for the Headmaster's office.

As the spiralling steps reached the door, she heard voices from within and hesitated, debating whether to knock or wait for a bit. But that decision was quite neatly taken out of her hands a few moments later when the door swung open and Dumbledore called, "Please come in, Hermione."

Entering, she was surprised to see her Watcher seated before him, his head resting on one fist, eyes closed. Exhaustion etched the lines in his face even deeper and his entire posture bespoke of a weariness that made her feel a flash of pity mingled with respect towards him. He opened his eyes at the sound of her footsteps and tilted his head in acknowledgement before closing them again.

Dumbledore gestured at the tray of tea and sandwiches before them. "Help yourself. I have a feeling you'll be missing breakfast."

Feeling her stomach rumble, she blushed and took a cheese sandwich from the pile. "Professor, has something happened?"

The Headmaster glanced briefly at Snape, who gestured vaguely with his free hand without opening his eyes. Nodding to himself, he leant forward. "Voldemort has ordered Professor Snape to take leave of his job here to apply his...unique talents to another mission—"

"There's no need to shield her, Albus," said the younger man irritably. "I'm ordered to spy on a king whom the Dark Lord thinks will make an excellent ally or servant. Either way he doesn't care, as long as I make sure there is no one there to stop his plans of conquest."

She took that in, and then a chuckle escaped her suddenly, drawing questioning looks from the two men. "He wants you to ensure Dumbledore's corrupting influence has not reached the king yet, doesn't he?"

He lifted his head, and she saw a glimmer in his eyes as he, too, realised the irony of the situation. A corner of his mouth twitched. "Indeed."

Nodding, she turned back to Dumbledore. "Something tells me that there's more to it than that, or my presence would not be required here in the first place."

He laughed. "Sharp as ever, Hermione. Very well, I shall be blunt. The Dark Lord has ordered Professor Snape here to persuade you to take your NEWTS early with psychological trauma pertaining to your parents'...untimely demise and tag along to help carry the luggage."

The Potions Master in question raised his eyebrows. "Really, Albus, there is no need to sound so abominably cheerful about it. He hopes that out of the 'corrupting influence' of Hogwarts and its Headmaster, you will be more easily swayed to the Dark Side."

_He makes it sound like some Jedi proverb,_ remarked the part of her that always remained aloof enough to provide the most scathing and more often that not, enlightening of commentaries.Suppressing the urge to laugh, she shrugged. "Then I'll do it. Let him think we are dancing to his tune before we spring the nasty surprise on him."

Snape turned to her, disbelief written all over his usually expressionless face. "Do you even understand the implications of this?" he asked in a near-hiss. "This is not some heroic charge or innocent little jaunt we are planning. _There are lives at stake here_."

She looked at him impassively. "I know that," she responded mildly. "Do give me some credit, Professor. I am not a child anymore, nor do I have a liking for 'heroic charges', as you so charmingly put it. I want to do my part for the Order, and not just settling for staking the vampires that form part of You-Know-Who's legions." In other circumstances, she would have derived amusement from the look on her Watcher's face, but her mind was too deeply engaged with other occupations to do that. "When do we leave?"

"Three weeks from now." Dumbledore leant forward to peer at her over his half-moon glasses. "Are you certain of this, my dear?"

"Absolutely. Am I allowed to tell the boys?"

Snape answered that query. "If they can be trusted to be discreet." He was somewhat disturbed to see her faraway gaze, at the cold predatory glint that appeared in her brown eyes.

"They can be," came the absent reply. "I'll make sure of that myself. Is there anything else, Professor Snape? Headmaster?"

They spent the next half hour ironing out the kinks in the plans Snape had formulated prior to her arrival. Finally Dumbledore sat back, looking every bit of his hundred-odd years. "I think that's all there is to it. I'll contact you if anything crops up."

With a nod, Watcher and Slayer left the office, leaving the ancient wizard to stare at the door long after it shut on their backs. "Gods protect us all," he murmured softly. "Another innocent sacrificed to the brutality of war."

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The reactions of the boys were just as she expected. Harry protested Dumbledore's decision to allow her to go with only Snape for company—evidently six years of dislike was a little hard to forget—Ron demanded how she was going to take care of herself in a alien place, and Draco simply shrugged.

She had waited till the two spluttered themselves dry, and assured Harry and Ron that Snape would make sure she slept under a roof and ate her greens and the like, and that she had mastered spells to guard against assault, so taking care of herself would be reasonably easy.

Nobody said a word for the next five minutes after her pronouncements, until Ron ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. "It's not fair for you to be allowed to do field work while we are still cocooned within Hogwarts."

"You mean you hate the idea of being left to kick your heels while I get to play hero," came the incisive retort. "You two have to master control and prudence, as well as learn to be a little less rash. Forgive my bluntness, but I believe I possess a little of those three qualities, and Professor Snape will be on hand to ensure I don't lose my head."

Harry chuckled. "Well, there isn't anything we can do to prevent her from leaving with Snape, is there? The grown-ups have already laid the plans and are going to set them in motion beginning tomorrow. Three weeks right? We'll be sure to get all the sweets we can in Honeydukes' during the next Hogsmeade weekend for you to take along. I won't put it past Snape to starve you a little."

She rolled her eyes at the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and said nothing. It didn't escape her that Draco had not uttered a word throughout the entire episode.

She sensed him coming up behind her as she tidied up after their evening study session and braced herself mentally for a tirade.

To her surprise, he cleared his throat pointedly. "I'm not going to lecture you like some ten-year-old. You are old enough to make your own decisions. Just tell me why you are so open to the idea."

She turned to him. "I'm helping our side. That king, whoever he is, needs to be warned of You-Know-Who's intentions. We can't let him gain another foothold."

"Is that all?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"What about revenge?" he asked softly, crossing his arms. "You can't tell me you don't desire to pay him back for what he did to you."

She busied herself with rearranging the cushions on the couch. "Since you already know the answer, why are you asking?"

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Well, then, is there anything more to say?" She tried to duck around him, but he caught her arm.

"You will keep your head, won't you?" he said, searching her eyes. "How certain are you that you won't allow your thirst for vengeance overwhelm you and make you do something that will cost you your life?"

"My Watcher will be on hand to make sure of that. I told the other two just as much earlier. Weren't you listening?"

He scowled. "He can't be always around to keep you in check, Hermione. I'm guessing he will be away a great deal and you will be left to your own devices. What happens if you come against any of the Death Eaters? What will keep you from going berserk and charging in blindly?"

She bit her lip and looked away. His observations had hit far too close to home for comfort. At last, she turned back. "I promise to give your father a fighting chance, if that's what you're worried about."

It was a low blow, and she instantly regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. But as the elders oft said, what was spoken cannot be undone. His carefully neutral mask cracked. "It's not my father we're talking about here. I'm trying to reason with you here!"

"Save your breath," she snapped, shaking his hand off and striding in the direction of her room. "I'm going, and nothing you say will change my mind."

He started after her. "I know you are used to being the expert on everything, Hermione, but this isn't something you go and look up in a book. Hermione!" The slam of the door greeted his call, and he exhaled, running his fingers through his hair, subconsciously mirroring the Boy-Who-Lived's tendency to do exactly that when he was troubled.

Two heads emerged from the cover of an Invisibility Cloak in the corner. "Well," Ron Weasley said. "That went absolutely swimmingly, didn't it?"

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"Warm clothes?"

"Check."

"Toiletries?"

"Check."

"Nearly three tons of Honeydukes' goodies?"

An affectionate chuckle. "I haven't got round to putting them in yet."

"You'd better start, then." Ginny Weasley's eyes glinted mischievously. "They'd be positively wounded if you didn't put their joint effort to good use."

"Like gumming up the jaws of wizards before they can hex me right?"

"I didn't think of that," admitted the younger girl. "But it's a good idea." She paused in the middle of folding the pile of clothes into the trunk. "They're all worried about you, you know. Even Malfoy. Now _that_ is a miracle."

"He is still human, remember?" She sighed. "I know they are, Ginny, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," came the matter-of-fact reply. "But there's still a lot of 'what-ifs' for them to work through."

"Let them do it," she replied uncompromisingly. "It's high time they get used to me not being around to bail them out when they get themselves into hot water." This time her companion looked up from her task to gaze at her until she got discomfited enough to return the stare.

"You've changed a lot, Hermione."

"We all have, Ginny," she reminded gently. "For Harry, me, your brother and you, the past years haven't been exactly quiet or peaceful or normal, and it was bound to have some sort of impact on all of us. We've all grown up, whether we want to or not, and that includes Ron."

Ginny gave a lopsided smile. "I only just realised. My brother may be developmentally challenged, but you balance him quite nicely." That earned her an eye-roll. "No seriously, what he lacks in smarts and maturity, you make up for it."

"Thanks ever so much," Hermione said dryly. "You make me sound so ancient."

She sniggered, then abruptly hugged her. "Don't be off too long. I don't know how we'd manage without you."

She just smiled, unable to speak around the sudden lump that had appeared in her throat.

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The exams were over and done with; the graduation certificate handed to her in a private ceremony with only her teachers and friends in attendance, and she found herself quite free of the obligations of a student all too suddenly. To think she actually had been looking forward to it. When they discussed the plans, she hadn't thought to include the emotional factor.

It seemed she and her friends were now worlds apart by virtue of the disparity in their statuses. Before, she had been one of the three who regularly got into trouble, looked upon as the one to save their collective butts, and on occasion, big-sister figure to Ginny Weasley. There were just some things one could never discuss with brothers, no matter how mature they were.

Now...now, she was the adult, expected to be level-headed and proper and all that sort of tosh. Not that she wasn't all that before, mind, that was different. Those weren't requirements of being a student.

Strange really, how much difference graduation actually made.

The fact that the Head Girl had graduated ahead of all her yearmates was quite well-known throughout the school, courtesy of the intensive broadcasting by means both discreet and public. For the next few days after the official announcement that she had left the school quietly, she had to lay low, living in guest quarters right beside her Watcher's subterranean ones.

On the morning they were slated to leave, Snape entered in his customary way, appearing to be in a foul mood. He ate half the food on his plate and departed robes-a-swishing behind him. All of these weren't much surprising to the other bleary-eyed individuals breaking fast in the Great Hall as well, for that was exactly what he did every single morning like clockwork. Only three pairs of eyes watched him go, and waited for precisely thirty minutes to pass with nerves stretched taut in anticipation before making their own excuses.

Slipping out of the Great Hall, they exchanged a look and split up, each taking a different route to a common destination.

Slayer and Watcher waited in a circular courtyard, bags ready at their feet. Hermione was mildly amused to see that her Watcher had been as surprised as she was when Dumbledore brought them to that discreet spot. "I'm not even certain if that's an actual existent part of the castle or something Albus ordered into being," he had muttered to Hermione when the old wizard had left them to make their way back to the dungeons, humming merrily to himself.

At that very moment, the door that led into the castle opened, and four figures entered. Actually, three all but stampeded in, while the fourth followed at a more sedate pace. Harry, Ron and Ginny made a beeline for her as Snape raised his eyes heavenward in a half-hearted gesture of resignation before turning to Dumbledore. "The portal will be opened in five minutes," he told him. "There'll be someone on the other side waiting to receive you both."

He frowned minutely. "Is there anywhere free from your 'corrupting influence'?"

"Very few," came the smug reply. "And before you ask, my boy, I'm not going to tell you."

"As if I wish to know."

He chuckled genially and clapped him on the back. "Take care of yourself, and I daresay, Miss Granger as well. I know there'll be a few people waiting in line to pummel you if she comes back with so much as a freckle missing."

The younger wizard smirked faintly at that, and he turned to watch the four teens clustered close together. Ruthlessly squashing a surge of envy, he called, "Hurry up and say your goodbyes. The portal will open any minute now."

His charge acknowledged his less-than-gentle reminder, and with a last hug from the two boys, picked up her bag and came to stand beside him. The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Had-Yet-To-Vanquish looked up at him. "Take care of her, sir."

For the sake of decorum, he bit back the acerbic retort that was on the tip of his tongue and nodded instead. "Rest assured I will bring her back Potter, if only to help you and Mr Weasley get out of another tight spot."

He grinned faintly. "We'll try to be good boys and not cause trouble."

"I doubt that." He turned away; vaguely unsettled at how easily he was speaking with the boy whom he had treated like dirt since he first stepped into Potions. Thankfully, the air a few feet away from them was beginning to shimmer, catching all their attention and saving him from further thought. It grey progressively with each second, and began to twist into a vortex-like phenomenon, making them feel a little dizzy as they watched the manic spiral distortions. Elongating and stretching in a way that reminded Hermione of Silly Putty, it finally settled into an oval hole, hovering inches above the grass.

Albus Dumbledore beckoned the two of them forward before stepping through himself. The farewell committee watched in silence as the black form of their Potion Master slipped through, followed immediately by the smaller figure of their friend. Voices could be heard, and shortly after, Dumbledore popped back into sight. "I did the introductions," he explained. "They'll be reasonably all right with my contact there."

The portal began to shrink in on itself, and the last thing Harry saw before it closed completely was the Slayer waving frantically at all of them.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's done. I know a Portkey could be easily used, but Icouldn't resistthe idea of a portal being opened between one place and another. Bit more dramatic, I suppose. That's one thing I share in common with old Voldy: our flair for drama. That, and a penchant for evil cackling. Lol. I hope this is to your satisfaction. Comments, suggestions, keep 'em coming! 


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